The World Wants Me Gone
by The Hermione Granger Fan Club
Summary: Prequel to my story 'Growing Up In Terminal City'. X5-767 escapes from the Washington facility and tries to make sense of the world around her. Chapter Seven posted!
1. Chapter One: Night of Fire

X5-767 stared at the ceiling. Her hands were splayed across her flat stomach as she thought about the news she'd been given a few hours before.   
  
"You're pregnant," they'd said. "We can't determine the gender of the subject just yet, but the X10 appears to be healthy. We'll keep you here overnight with 211 and 702. The Committee extends its congratulations, 767."  
  
"Thank you, sir. I will do everything in my power to ensure that the project is successful."  
  
A baby. For some odd reason 767 knew it was going to be a boy. Only they weren't 'boys' or 'girls' here, they were males and females. Boy or girl sounded too human. She'd never heard herself referred to as a girl or a woman.   
  
It made her think of her own mother. 767 did know where she'd come from. She even knew what her mother had looked like. They hadn't looked very much alike. It was common for the X5 subjects to inherit odd features from their surrogates- the hair colour, for example, or an irregular freckle or two.   
  
The women had had their pictures taken for records. Some had even been pregnant when taken off the streets and their unborn, unwanted children made into X5s. As long as they were healthy, they'd do.   
  
767's mother had been dark-eyed and rather short, and her photographic eyes peered through a mane of tangled black hair as she slouched in her seat. Yet 767 could spy a spark somewhere in there that even Manticore hadn't been able to snuff out.  
  
767 had not inherited hair colour, eye colour, freckles or anything of the like from her mom. She did, however, have a tiny birthmark on her right pointer finger, so small she hadn't noticed it until the winter of 2013. It sort of resembled a crawling baby if you really used your imagination. For once in her life she'd sinned. She hadn't shown her superiors the birthmark for fear that they'd laser it away until it was obliterated to become blank skin devoid of personality.  
  
She wondered if that was her mother's gift to her.  
  
All the surrogate mothers were for was carrying the X-series to term. The subjects- they were not called babies or children, but subjects- were not allowed any contact at all.  
  
She imagined herself in her late twenties, watching her growing son train from the other side of the quad, dressed in a soldier's camis and combat boots. The X5 females would be allowed little to no contact with their children, to avoid unnecessary emotional attachments being formed.   
  
767 sighed and turned over. She slept.   
  
When she awoke, she instantly knew something was wrong. I smell smoke, she thought instantly.   
  
X5-767 tried to register this. She took a deep gulp of air and hacking coughs filled the air.   
  
I SMELL SMOKE, her mind told her even more insistently. I SMELL SMOKE.   
  
RUN.   
  
She jumped from her bed in the infirmary and calmly tried to open the door as the fire alarms began to go off.  
  
It was locked.   
  
767 panicked. Why was it locked? It should be open. This wasn't a drill. "211! 702, wake up!" she called, trying to maintain a calm voice.   
  
"I smell smoke," said X5-211 in bewilderment. She came to help.   
  
"I can't open it," whispered 767, gulping. "It's locked."  
  
211's eyes widened and she laughed nervously. "Don't be childish, 767. Of course it isn't locked." She pushed her X5 sister out of the way and started to wiggle the handle back and forth.   
  
702 trotted over to the door, yawning and coughing, her eyes watering. "Well? Open it!"  
  
"I can't open it, it's locked!" cried 211 in fear.   
  
The three X5 females began bellowing and banging on the door with their fists. There was a small screen and 767 looked through it. At that moment there was a clicking, grinding noise and the door made a movement as if to open, but didn't. It was jammed.   
  
The corridor was suddenly flooded with X-series and anomalies, running for their lives through fire and smoke.   
  
"HELP US!" screamed 211, who wasn't always good in emergencies. "WE'RE TRAPPED IN HERE! HELP!"  
  
767 looked through the screen and saw her breeding partner run past. "Wait!" she yelled to him. "Get us out of here!"  
  
He slowed down, staring at her face through the glass. Then he shook his head and kept running, flanked by a few X8s.   
  
"NO! No! In here! Help us!" called X5-767 desperately, spluttering.   
  
He disappeared.   
  
"Shit!" swore X5-767 loudly, trying to get rid of her sickened feeling of betrayal. "I need something to break the screen."  
  
"You can't- it's unbreakable," 702 reminded her.   
  
"Well, I'm going to try and knock it out of the pane, then. I need something! Anything!"  
  
"I don't want to die," murmured 211, giving a violent twitch. This was not a good sign. She'd start seizing if they weren't quick.   
  
767 grunted as she slammed her shoulder into the pane. It shuddered, but stayed put. She grabbed a small table, dragged it to the door, climbed onto it and kneeling, began pummelling at the window.   
  
"No- someone's there-" blustered 211 sleepily, having inhaled a lot of smoke and collapsed to the floor. Over the nearby roar of flame 767 couldn't hear her. X5-211 weakly pulled on her X5 sister's pant leg, trying to get her attention. 702 had to brace herself on the table, coughing and giving the door the occasional flimsy thump.  
  
Someone was trying to open the door from the other side. All of a sudden the door opened and 767 fell on him.  
  
She thought it was one of her X5 group as she gazed momentarily into his eyes. "X5-573?" she asked softly.  
  
"Ouch," he said simply, gritting his teeth.   
  
767 tried to get up off him. He grabbed her arm to try and pull himself up, making her fall back down. 767 stifled a nervous giggle, trying not to look at him.  
  
She rolled sideways onto the floor. Both jumped up to help 702 and 211 out.   
  
"Why the hell did you get us out, 573?" asked 767, reverting to type. "That wasn't the mission!"  
  
The four of them hurried down the corridor. An X7 went limping past. She'd lost all her hair and looked like a very short seventy-year-old- a victim of progeria.   
  
"573?" he yelled back, hitching 211 up a bit. "No!"  
  
"What d'you mean, no?"  
  
He bellowed something she couldn't understand.  
  
"What?"  
  
More gibberish obscured by the sound of floors falling through.   
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"No, I'm Splint!" he roared. "SPLINT." He repeated in case she hadn't gotten the message.   
  
Splint? A name? This intrigued 767. X5s did not have names. At least, her group didn't. You were born a number, grew a number and were shot, blown up or otherwise slaughtered a number. She'd never considered names.   
  
They reached a window. The women would be able to climb through- it'd be a tight fit, but 767 imagined he could use this escape route.  
  
Splint gave 702, whose face was streaked with ash, a boost through the window. If 767 stood on tiptoe she could see her dashing away into the night.  
  
Gunfire. Screams. And she fell into the long grass. 767 didn't see her after that. Splint hadn't appeared to notice this. He was trying to get 211 to stand on her own.   
  
211 was next. She staggered for a few seconds and was suddenly running. More gunfire. She ducked and swerved and disappeared into the forest.  
  
"You next," he said.   
  
"Speak for those two," sniffed X5-767, beginning to climb. She paused. "Where should we meet you? I mean- are you going to give us up to the superiors, soldier?"  
  
Splint shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it, the new X5 generation is so important. They need to get out of here. WE need to get them out of here. Just you get your kid as far away from here as possible. I'll catch you up."  
  
767 scrambled through the window and paused as his hands appeared on the sill. "Hurry up!" she yelled.   
  
He said nothing, but there was a scream and crashes as the wall crumbled, flame pouring out the small window. She leaped backward, holding her arms up to keep the heat away. 767 shied from foot to foot. "SPLINT! Are you alive?" She wondered briefly why she felt so awful yelling that.   
  
No answer. 767 started forward, heat searing at her unprotected skin.   
  
I SMELL SMOKE, her senses barked. RUN.  
  
Taking a running jump, her feet touched cool grass and she skidded, landing on her hands and knees. Gunfire whirled over her head.  
  
She started to crawl, muttering to herself. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" This was a habit of hers- as a young child frustrated with the swimming lessons imposed on her, she'd screamed like a maniac every time she'd put her head under the water, eyes wide open.  
  
767 had loathed swimming even though she was excellent at it. There were a lot of things she was good at and hated.  
  
She'd reached the X7's territory- basically the X7s were transgenic watchdogs. She had to watch out. The X7s were the greatest trackers Manticore had ever created. And with all this noise, you'd never hear them coming...  
  
They were coming. She flopped over into a suitable position, opened her eyes wide and took a deep breath, stilling her pulse. She could keep herself like this for about ten or eleven minutes before she'd have to take a breath or die.   
  
Those were the footsteps of the X7s. Slow, calculated... then they turned wild, and another sound intercepted them.  
  
It was someone running for their life.  
  
Out of nowhere came someone who tripped right over X5-767 and went headlong into the dirt with a shriek of terror.  
  
An X8. Winded, 767 had been flipped over onto her face. The X8 crawled over to her and began shaking her. "Help me, help me, please help me!" she begged. 767 stayed perfectly still.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" demanded the X8 girl. "Help me! Oh... no."  
  
She jumped up and ran off, apparently with the X7s on her tail.  
  
X5-767 found herself huddled underneath a tree the next morning, sore and unwilling to remember the night's events.   
  
"Ugggggh," she moaned, putting her fingers to her mouth. They came away bloodied. When had she cut her lip? 767 couldn't remember. All she recalled was pain, fire, gunshots, screams in the night...  
  
There was blood on her shirt too. She hadn't cut herself there, she was sure of it. Was it the X8's blood?  
  
She was hungry and lonely. She needed other transgenics around. She needed to belong to a pack, an army. She began to slowly rock back and forth, cradling her blonde head in her hands.   
  
So here she was. All alone, injured in several places... all alone.   
  
She did not grieve for 702- there was no sense in worrying, as she had not seen her X5 sister actually die. She'd probably run into her in a day or two, she reasoned. But somehow she felt wistful for Splint.   
  
"That's crazy!" she said aloud, raising her head. She'd never felt particularly close to 573, his clone. All she'd done was fall on the man and talk to him a few seconds.   
  
It was most likely the fact that he'd died helping her to escape. This startled X5-767. She'd regarded herself almost like an X7 in the fact that she did not feel guilt. Well, hardly ever.   
  
767 picked herself up and dusted off her nightclothes- Manticore did not call them pyjamas. Once again, that sounded too human. She looked a little ridiculous and she knew it, but she was very pretty. It wouldn't be too difficult to get a lift to the next town.  
  
She found a stream and washed her face and hands in the cleanest part of it. Spring water definitely wasn't as tasty as people made out, but it got the job done.   
  
Dragging a bruised foot slightly, she found a roadside and sat waiting for a truck to pass. It was a surprisingly short time before one approached.  
  
A gunshot emanated from the other end of the road. 767 started and looked around. She knew it was odd, but since she was nine gunfire had always creeped her out a little. She'd woken up in the middle of the night one cold February night, clapping a slight hand to her chest and gasping. Four words stabbed at her frighteningly clear mind.   
  
SHE DIDN'T DESERVE THAT.   
  
X7s spilled onto the road, chasing a catlike anomaly that was yowling and spitting at them as they pounced, dragging it off its feet. X5-767's first impulse was to go and help them, but somehow... she didn't want to be a part of this.  
  
The truck pulled to a stop beside her. Great. The driver was greasy and skinny, leering at her. She smiled brightly, but rolled her eyes.   
  
"Hi."  
  
"What's your name, sweetheart?"  
  
Ugh. Sweetheart. X5-767 resolved then and there to never refer to her unborn child this way. It sounded so... awful.   
  
Wait a second. Who even said she'd keep the baby long enough to assign it any kind of term of endearment?  
  
"Why d'you want to know?" she asked sweetly.  
  
He laughed and she simpered, casting around for a name, any name, as he gurgled about various old flames.   
  
"Jenna," she said finally, interrupting him in the middle of a tirade about the eighth love of his life. "Jenna Scott," X5-767 elaborated. She extended a hand.   
  
The driver guffawed and wrung her hand. 767 surreptitiously wiped her hand on her shirt, aching to snap his wrist as he put his hand nearby her knee. It would have found its intended target had she not meaningfully fidgeted at the last second.   
  
"Where are you headed?"  
  
"Seattle," he grunted, visibly put out.   
  
"Seattle..." she mused.  
  
It's close by, she reasoned. Perhaps the others are there.  
  
"Goin' to Seattle, sweetheart?"  
  
767 resisted the urge to shudder and with as much dignity as she could muster replied, "I may well be. And you? Are you staying?"  
  
"With you, sweetheart, I'd brave the gates of Hell."  
  
She cringed and struggled not to quip, "What, only the gates?" 767 simply giggled (masking the gagging noises slowly but steadily rising in her throat) and tried to relax.  
  
Trees rushed past. 767 remember being thin and small and leading a small band of her group- 799, 735, 206 and others- through similar trees. She held a knife in her hand. They chased a convict.  
  
Tree-scents stabbed at her senses, and they crouched low to the ground, catlike, spiderlike, his breathing thudding in their ears as he thundered past. Dewy grass tenderly left its marks on her pale face, brushing green on her jaw like a mother's touch and leaving sparkling droplets in its wake. She wiped them unconcernedly away, leaving a dark smear.   
  
799 stared at her with dark eyes. She had a pretty destructive glare. It put the Psy-Ops to shame, but she didn't much use it. She was too soft.  
  
X5-767 nodded grimly, but a sudden almost maniacal smile bloomed across her face.  
  
They dived into action. 767 rose to her feet and began to pick her way through the undergrowth, the others following. There was an eerie detachment to the way she stared straight ahead.  
  
Stopping abruptly, she looked up and to the side. They were exposed and vulnerable- if the man ran through here, he'd see them and they'd blow the mission.  
  
There was a gaunt white terror of a face peering at her through the trees, and she beckoned furiously for them to come. A small group of X5s jogged over to her, and the two teams leaders conversed wildly, their hands blurring as they shouted at each other without saying a word.   
  
They agreed on a course of action. One team, she found out, was tailing him closely and making him run back onto the main trail by taunting him.  
  
She could imagine it. Out of the trees would come the merest stage whisper of a voice. "Ha."  
  
"Whatcha laughin' at?"  
  
"That man..."  
  
"Thinks he's brave..."  
  
"He can't fight us..."  
  
"Look at him, he's tryin' to run!"  
  
"He can't run, what makes him think he can run from us?"  
  
"Look at him..."  
  
"Makes me sick, lookin' at him. Look at how we'll kill that man..."  
  
"That man..."  
  
"Ha."  
  
"Look at him, he's scared..."  
  
Naturally that team was the ones good at throwing their voices. The final terrifying part of their little act would be beginning to laugh quietly, first one and then all the others, a savage rumble of animal laughter. It had been her idea, their laughing bit- she'd come up with it in her favourite class, Battle Psychology.   
  
She broke into a strict run as the teams separated again, and word came from all over. She could hear murmurs, feel the air stirred by half a dozen kids having run past.  
  
This... was her fun.  
  
Slowly, effectively, silently the group burst out of hiding places long frequented in those same woods. They tricked him into running toward the riverbank, and right into their trap.  
  
Terrible screams rose into the air- battle cries and agonised bellowing- and 767 had crashed through the thicket just in time to see her family playing with the man like cats teasing a mouse.  
  
"Feeling lucky?" hissed 657 in a voice so low it could have been mistaken for the wind. She pressed long-nailed hands into his back and shoved him hard to the ground. There was blood on her face.  
  
"Huh?" yelled 494. "Are you?" He began kicking the man hard in the ribs and neck, dirt spraying into their prey's face and eyes.  
  
"Please..." croaked their quarry. They laughed.   
  
"Come on!" said 600, pacing around him and tossing his knife from hand to hand. "Too chicken to take on a bunch of kids, huh? Fight us!"  
  
Growls and snarls rumbled in their throats mixed with evil laughter. "Fight us!"  
  
"Try an' take us on!"  
  
"Fight us!"  
  
They began to chant it- fifty kids, the CO only thirteen years old. All wielding switchblades and catcalling to a fully-grown man they'd nearly beaten to death.  
  
"Fight us," 767 had joined in. "Fight us, fight us, fight us, fight us!"  
  
A few more swung out of the trees likes apes, having lost the scent. "Did we miss the good part?" asked the baby sister, 453, running over to 702 and tugging at her arm. She blew her fringe out of her eyes.  
  
The thick canopy of leaves obscured dappled midday sunlight. They had begun to clap rhythmically and step from foot to foot, stirring the filmy dirt by the river. Chuckling, 472 bared his teeth and snapped at the man, sounding eerily like a rabid dog, as he tried to crawl.   
  
573 made punching motions at the man, whirling his blade expertly through his bloodied fingers and posing like an action hero, to the mirth of the others.   
  
Two girls, 348 and 211, pulled him roughly to his feet and began shoving him back and forth between the two of them, miming stabbing and slashing at him with their blades.   
  
417 had his turn, pretending to flex his Manticore muscle and knock him silly with karate punches and flying kicks, missing him every time. His combat boot finally connected with the convict's forehead, sending him soaring. Cruel laughter filled the air, which turned again to snarls and heavy breathing.  
  
TIME TO KILL, said 767's subconscious. TIME TO KILL.  
  
"LET'S FINISH HIM!" screamed out 657, and laughing, yelling, cheering, snarling, the Washington X5s ran in...  
  
It had been X5-620's responsibility to tip the corpse into the river, and she'd done so quite cheerfully, though not before 600 had cut off the man's right hand as proof they'd completed the objective. And although they stressed truth and honour far more than their Wyoming clones, all had kept completely straight faces when X5-600 had told Colonel Hardy that the kill had been a very quick affair with no twisted games played.   
  
Somehow they'd known it was wrong. But when they killed away from the base, it made them more animals than regimented, ordered, barely human... subjects.  
  
And ANYTHING was better than being a SUBJECT.  
  
767 had only been eleven years old.  
  
He stopped for gas and 767 took charge as he climbed out, unbuckling her seatbelt and sliding into the driver's seat.  
  
"So where is it you're from?" he called.   
  
"Got relatives in Marseilles," she answered, naming the first place that popped into her head. Had the sarcastic little voice in her brain that kept her in line been flesh and blood, it would have smacked her upside the head. MARSEILLES? it demanded.  
  
Laughter. "Fascinatin'."  
  
She did not appear to answer, but the driver did not see her devilish grin as she extracted the keys and settled herself into the driver's seat. "Au revoir, sucka," she said under her breath.  
  
When he returned, he laughed at the sight of this obviously weak woman sitting in the driver's seat. He went to open the door-  
  
It was locked.  
  
He looked at her, and 767 laughed musically, "Thank you so much for taking me this far, and just remember this- I'm not STEALING your truck, I'm just BORROWING it."  
  
With that she screeched out of there and barrelled down the road.  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.  
  
NOTE: 767 is a fairly central character from another of my fics. She's originally from 'Growing Up In Terminal City'. Now, 767 (she does have a real name, except I won't say it now in case you haven't read my other one) is my favourite of my original X5s, and I like her so much... well, I just had to give her her own story.  
  
This is what is commonly known as my Big Project. For months I've been devising it, planning it in detail, writing excerpts and even compiling a soundtrack. No, really. The soundtrack is basically all the music I listened to writing certain parts. It might not seem that big or special right now, but I have been putting everything I've got into the excerpts that are floating around my computer.  
  
Because of all the goddamned homework I get now, I'm afraid I can only churn out chapters every other week. But I'm really excited about writing this and I hope anyone who's read this chapter has at least nodded and said, "Oh. OK."  
  
'Cause, you know, basically that's all I ask. :]  
  
SONGS FOR CHAPTER ONE:   
  
The Beginning- 'Space Needle Theme' from 'Dark Angel'  
  
The Fire and Escape- 'Crawling' by Linkin Park  
  
The Woods Flashback- 'Breathe' by Prodigy 


	2. Chapter Two: Freak Out

Careful, 767, careful, her mind said in the smooth relaxed tones of someone who knows exactly what they will say and has all the time in the world to say it. Slow down, fool, you want to crash or something?  
  
This was the sarcastic voice that popped up in 767's head all day, volunteering comments and solutions. She trusted this voice, it was entirely her. She loved that little voice.  
  
And that was what 418 had said, that day in the car, wasn't it? Three five-year-olds, two six-year-olds and a man, the man dead for her stupidity.  
  
That day, it was why for many years 767 had had a phobia of riding in a car.  
  
Of course, she didn't mind driving. She absolutely loved being in control. Push a pedal: it makes the car go faster. Pull a lever: set it in another gear. Easy. Perfect.  
  
She hadn't thought it was so easy and perfect when they'd started to learn to drive cars when they were in their late childhood. She'd started convulsing rapidly and screaming when they'd tried to make her get in a car.  
  
Of course, Manticore wasn't stupid. While the X5s, at eleven years old, were smart enough to learn to drive a car, they'd never put even an X5 in charge of an actual car. They'd put together some small machines, with engines and pedals and a single seat, for the kids to practice in. She wouldn't get in. They'd punched her in the face, again and again, trying to make her stop until they finally hauled her off to Psy-Ops for analysing.  
  
It had been late at night and little five-year-old 767 had been padding back from the bathroom when a big strange shape had loomed out of the darkness.  
  
A man. A stranger. But not threatening, or even particularly authorative. She had no desire to call this man Sir. But she did, because it was the first thing they'd ever been taught.  
  
"Hello, little girl."  
  
She'd wondered vaguely if that was an insult. What the heck was a girl supposed to be? Gir-ull. Girl. G-E-R-L-L, she thought childishly. That spells GIRL.  
  
"Who're you, sir?"  
  
"Why don't you tell me who you are?"  
  
767 had considered this. "I am Ex-Fyve."  
  
"That's what they call you?"  
  
"Mmm. Ex-Fyve Sevvun-Six-Sevvun. I'm one. One of others. Colonel Hardy says we're a big group."  
  
"How old are you, X5-767?"  
  
She answered swiftly. "I'm five yea's old and I'm one of youngest others."  
  
"Can you tell me what you do here?"  
  
What a silly question. He was a Big Person. Big People knew everything.  
  
"I do tests."  
  
"What kind?"  
  
"They teach me to fight... to treat wounds... to name countries."  
  
"Countries?"  
  
"Yeah. I have a brother who can name the capital of every country in the world in alphabe'ical order."  
  
"And how old is your brother?"  
  
"Six."  
  
"How long have you been able to read, 767?"  
  
"Since I could sit up. They teach you how to do ev'ry'fing here so we can be great soldiers and defend the country."  
  
"You know, there's not a war going on right now, 767."  
  
"I know that. But my unit member, 657, figured out that they're getting us ready because a huge war will be fought when we grow up. We're special, but she's the most special. She's smart. I wanna be jus' like her when I grow up."  
  
"How old is she?"  
  
"Five yea's old."  
  
He looked down at her with what 767 now knew was pity and sadness, and she resented that. Nobody had any business pitying her.  
  
What a life she led.  
  
He'd told her he'd seen their lives, seen the way they were taught and drilled and he wanted to help them. He told her to pick two sisters and two brothers and he'd help them see the Outside.  
  
Only she was on the Outside now, wasn't she?  
  
She'd picked her two favourite brothers, her partners in crime. 418 and 472, they were an easy choice. She then decided on 657, her mentor and role model, the greatest, most brilliant female X5 had ever known. She'd always respected 657 with all her heart.  
  
Looking around the dormitory at bedtime, she'd needed another girl. There were so many she would have wanted to see the Outside with her but finally she picked 799, her little shadow. 799 worshipped her in a way that struck a funny bell, because she took all of 799's adoration and heaped it upon 657.  
  
Still, it didn't mean 799 was her favourite or anything. Even at five years old, she'd enjoyed jerking people around. She couldn't stand rotten cliches. Besides, they'd be back. Perhaps he'd take the others too.  
  
She'd gathered them, told them, told them it was a mission to get them to come. They sat in the back of the car as he skidded on the wet road and went off the road, slamming into a tree. He'd been trying to stop at the sight of a gang of soldiers and SUVs all over the road.  
  
He was killed instantly. She remembered it well, his head cracked and body slumped in his seat.  
  
418 had started to cry and 657 had simply sat in her seat, mouth gaping, stunned. She'd never even rode in a car before.  
  
X5-799 had been knocked silly by the crash and had been cradling her head in her hands, just murmuring. "Hurts," she'd said in a puzzled voice, like she hadn't been aware that silly Ordinary thing called pain applied to her. "Hurts."  
  
472 began to struggle against his seatbelt. He broke it easily, but with such fervour that the car actually lurched forward.  
  
And she'd started to scream.  
  
Not just a babyish snivel of upset. She'd been completely aware it was her screaming. Her jaw ached from being held open. She made no move to remove herself from the car, just stared and screamed wildly.  
  
"Stop doing that!" That was 418, bewildered by the funny noise his younger sister was making.  
  
The soldiers had broken open the doors. 657 had promptly been extremely sick upon being fetched out of the car, but with little concern for herself hiccupped, "Was our mis'on good, sir?"  
  
They'd tried to put 767 into another car, to take her back to base, but oh no. She wasn't getting in there with some incompetent Big Person at the wheel. She bellowed and kicked and threw the biggest and violent tantrum the Washington base had ever seen until they gave her a shot of something to make her calm down.  
  
767 had read the reports. Apparently they'd been kidnapped. The man was intending to show the world what its tax dollars were being used for- creating cute little killing machines. Just some man on a mission. Pathetic.  
  
Finally she stopped the truck and got out to look around, shading her eyes with her hand.  
  
There was a body lying facedown in the high grass, a little way off among the trees.  
  
DON'T GO BACK FOR A FALLEN SOLDIER, her instincts prompted. DON'T GO BACK FOR A FALLEN SOLDIER.  
  
767 ran to turn the body over and gasped.  
  
"472!" she hissed, shaking him. "472, are you OK?"  
  
The pulse was strong. He wrenched his eyes open and gazed blankly at her.  
  
He wasn't dead. He was in an awful way, with grazes and cuts all over his face and neck and a giant bruise forming on his forehead, but he wasn't dead. She could have sung if she didn't know how tone-deaf she was.  
  
"472," she said gently. "Hey. Gimme a smile, c'mon." This was their old old joke.  
  
He breathed in sharply and exhaled loudly, smiling painfully.  
  
"Tripped over. Smacked my head." Suddenly, a wicked grin appeared on his face. "767! You look so... so..."  
  
She shoved him roughly off her knees and glared profusely at him.  
  
"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and-"  
  
"Shut UP," she ordered bossily.  
  
"Damn, damn good thing you found me, 767. Nearly got hit about eleven times in the attack last night."  
  
"Yeah... what WAS that?" she asked.  
  
"My guess is- well, actually, I have no clue. Can you help me up?"  
  
She pulled him into a sitting position. "Betcha it was the Great War happening."  
  
"You won't let go of that, will you? I stopped believing in the Great War when I was nine."  
  
"Well, I stopped when I was ten. I wasn't THAT backward, you pathetic asshole. I'm making a joke."  
  
"Hey, don't 'freak out' on me, 767. I'm good at those joke things too, you know. Damn, damn good. I'm going with you back to base- I don't think I'll be able to make it back alone."  
  
767 smirked. "Whatever. It'll be good to get back to ground. I expect we'll be sleeping in tents 'til the foetus is burned to a crisp and done for ten minutes more." Microwave humour? the sarcastic little voice in her head moaned.  
  
"I hate to say it but your sense of humour leaves somethin' to be desired. So you're pregnant?"  
  
"Yeah. Since when did I ever 'screw up' a mission, 472?"  
  
"Not in all your twenty-one years." He smiled bravely at her. She hauled him to his feet and escorted him to the truck, heaping her X5 sibling into the passenger seat.  
  
He smirked at her. His smirk was almost as good as hers, but she took pride in the fact that apart from the Smirk she had an arsenal of other intimidating facial expressions, including the Glare, the Sneer, the Glower and the I'm-Gonna-Tear-You-Into-Little-Pieces look.  
  
"Nice wheels. I like the Happy Meal boxes all over the floor- damn, damn tasteful. Really."  
  
"Fuck off," she said, gunning it.  
  
"You steal it?"  
  
"Yep. You telling?"  
  
"You violated protocol."  
  
"I had to. The driver was a sleaze."  
  
"Yeah, the Commitee's just gonna love that."  
  
"The Commitee will have their hands full," said 767 patronisingly. "Besides, I did that guy a favour."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"This is what's commonly referred to as a 'shitheap'."  
  
472 laughed. "And so you stole it because...?"  
  
"Because I was smarter than him. Natural selection."  
  
"Whatever you say."  
  
Trees whirled past. He leaned back in his seat and winced. "My head really hurts."  
  
"Try not to think about it. You know what I'm gonna do when base has rounded us all up?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Have a shower and change into my day things. Burn these clothes. Eat something- ANYTHING. Even those vile power protein drinks are looking tasty right now."  
  
"I can't eat. I'm not hungry- my mouth was blooded up. Everything will taste like bile."  
  
She shot him a disgusted look. "472, I'm X5 as much as you are. I respect and cherish you as a unit member- but that, brother mine, was putrid. 'Too much information!'"  
  
"I need a bandage. I need to sleep."  
  
"So sleep."  
  
"It's too bright... my eyes are damn, damn sore."  
  
"You always are an ass when you're in pain."  
  
He closed his eyes. "Yes, and I'm loving you too."  
  
"You shouldn't need to sleep. I mean, exactly how long WERE you knocked out? I'm the one who was running around all night. But you do need to eat." She slowed the car and fumbled through the boxes before coming out with half a burger. "Here, chew on this."  
  
472 opened his eyes the tiniest bit. "You want me to eat something an Outside person's mouth touched? I'll get rabies."  
  
"Hey, don't even worry about it. I mean, it's not like it'll affect your behaviour or anything."   
  
With difficulty, he took it from her. "That's cute, 767, damn, damn cute."  
  
"What are you, scared?"  
  
"No." Just to spite her, he took a big bite.  
  
It was early evening before they reached Seattle, and 472 was getting worse. They were stopped at a sector checkpoint and of course, without ID, were hauled out.  
  
"Names?" asked the officer. 472's eyes were unfocussed. "Hey, I asked you a question!"  
  
"Lay off him, sir. He's... unwell." 767 gazed sadly at him, before steeling herself and sliding closer toward him on the bench. Before they could yell at her to separate, she'd hissed. "What the hell is with you, soldier? All you did was hit your head!"  
  
He tried to sit up and managed to say, "I'm- Matt Liosis. This is my damn, damn charming girlfriend Carla Frank."  
  
"Sweet girl, freaky matching tattoos," slimed the officer, touching the back of her neck. She slapped out at him.  
  
"Don't call me a freak!" she barked.  
  
"We'll have to mark you as failing to cooperate, Carla!"  
  
"Whatever. I'm tired- come on, MATT, let's go." She went to help him, but the sector police asked she stay sitting.  
  
"You'll be sorry you messed with me." she hissed in fury.  
  
And they were.  
  
"What the HELL is up with you?" she demanded half an hour later, having to slap him so he wouldn't drop off. It was all too difficult for her to refrain from punching him out. "FUCKING answer me!"  
  
"I- I-"  
  
They were parked outside some contaminated block of land.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm off my meds, sis. I'm malfunctioning. They're damn, damn... powerful drugs."  
  
She groaned. "Manticore's been giving you drugs?"  
  
"Yeah. That's why I wasn't in the programme. Would have really 'screwed up' a baby. I can barely withstand the side effects."  
  
"Side effects?" she echoed. "What d'you mean, side effects?"  
  
"Like... breaking down when I don't get 'em regularly."  
  
"Regularly?" she asked in a dangerous voice.  
  
"Morning and evening."  
  
She exploded. "You could have TOLD me!"  
  
"Well, I didn't... I didn't damn, damn think..." He looked up. "Hey, look at that."  
  
Rolling her eyes, she looked up into the sky through the smeary windshield and stared at the light moving through the stars.  
  
"Rendezvous..." she whispered.  
  
He started seizing. On top of everything else, she had her hands full with a malfunctioning X5. Why her?  
  
"Please... just hold... I'm falling," he begged.  
  
"Hang on, stupid," she muttered. She climbed out, ran around to his side of the truck and opened the door. He pitched sideways. Teeth gritted slightly (not so much from effort as from resisting the temptation to scream), 767 dragged him out of the truck.  
  
X5-472 gazed up at her like a little boy. "You're my best friend, I love you."  
  
"No, you don't," she said firmly.  
  
"We- we should... get going. Get going."  
  
There was a long silence. When she spoke, it was hollowly. "I'm dropping you off at a hospital. I'll go to ground. I'll get them to come and pick you up, OK?"  
  
"NO."  
  
"472, I'm dropping you off at a hospital and getting help."  
  
"THEY won't be able to help me!"  
  
"I'm taking you to a hospital and that's final. I mean, what are you gonna do? Fight me?"  
  
He protested wildly the entire way to Harbor Lights Hospital.  
  
"I'd better head off," she said, setting him down on the front steps. "I- I promise on my heart that I will send troops to get you as soon as I reach the temporary base."  
  
"Even... before you burn your nightclothes?"  
  
"These disgusting nightclothes? Last priority, next to you."  
  
X5-472 seemed to be trying to talk. "Have I ever told you how b-blue your eyes are?"  
  
"Have I ever told you to shut up?" she said. God, even in the face of death he had to try a corny pickup line. "So long. And quit worrying- you'll be here a day and a night at the most, I promise."  
  
"OK." 472 spoke dejectedly.  
  
"See ya soon, best friend."  
  
767 nodded awkwardly and rose to her feet. She had to get back to Manticore, or what was left of it.  
  
A fellow soldier might not make it if she was slow.  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Any songs from the 'soundtrack' belong to their respective owners. Not me. So don't sue.  
  
NOTE: Just in case anyone's not clued in, 472 is Krit's clone. (Sorry if I screwed up the designation) And yes, I realise his habit of saying "Damn, damn." is annoying. Trust me, I'll take great joy out of doing it on Monday morning at school to test its annoying quotient. *SMIRKS EVILLY* If it seems to you sometimes that 472 has a crush on her (with the "Have I ever told you how blue your eyes are?" cracks and all), then you're absolutely spot on. Throughout childhood and adolescence he had the hots for her. Still feels wistful every now and then when he looks at her, you know? No offence if the "Damn, damn." routine pissed you off so much you wanted to clout him over the head, but that makes me feel a bit sorry for him sometimes.  
  
'Freak Out' was written on a hot, sticky, gross day in my hot, sticky, gross house. In short, it's one ugly day, and I'm in an ugly mood. Please forgive me for the bile and blood jokes. Honestly, they seemed funny at the time.  
  
My Internet is being a bitch, so if there are any complications with this chapter please let me know.  
  
SONGS FOR CHAPTER TWO:  
  
The Flashbacks- 'Another Brick In The Wall' by Class of '99  
  
On The Road and The Doors of Harbour Lights- 'One Last Breath' by Creed 


	3. Chapter Three: Dangerous Revelations

Being pregnant, thought Kara loathingly, is the crappiest thing in the world.  
  
Forget being immune to the flu, measles and the common cold- didn't the geneticists take morning sickness into account? Ugggh.  
  
Rolling her eyes, she shuffled through the crumpled pamphlets her 'neighbour' Ally, another woman who lived on the street, had pulled out of her bag. She seemed to take an awful lot of reading material around with her.  
  
She'd given them to her after Kara had retreated into a doorway, poking herself repeatedly in the stomach and hissing, "Being pregnant blows. I'm NEVER letting a man touch me again. Y'hear that? I'M- REMAINING- CELIBATE-!"  
  
"Uh, are you OK, Kara?"  
  
Kara had whirled around to find her standing there, eyebrows raised. "I'm fine," she sniffed.  
  
"I don't mean to intrude, but here," said Ally hesitantly- many of the people in that part of San Francisco were a little afraid of Kara. She pulled some tattered bits of paper out of the mangled suitcase she always lugged around with her. "Take these, perhaps they'll help."  
  
"That's your damn solution to everything, isn't it?" growled Kara. "To read something."  
  
"Like I said, maybe they'll help. I'll save you a space at the bonfire later, OK, Kara?"  
  
Even the name, Kara, was a mistake. She'd been having a sector pass made up and was asked for her first name.  
  
"Carla," she muttered with her head down.  
  
"Cara?" asked the woman behind the screen.  
  
She'd considered that. "Yeah, Kara. K-A-R-A. And my last name is D- is... Dean. Kara Dean."  
  
Until arriving in Carson City she'd continued using Carla Frank as her name. She regretted the loss of 472 immensely.  
  
The signal had continued to flash in the sky a few days before changing. SCATTER AND GO TO GROUND. Kara had been crestfallen. She'd continued doggedly anyway, and upon reaching the rendenvous point had found it deserted.  
  
She'd made her way back to the hospital and asked for Matt Liosis at the front desk, only to find no men there by that name. When she'd given them his description it turned out he'd never even gone in.  
  
He had to be dead. "When soldiers die you pay your respects," she muttered, and slunk out to the steps, waiting 'til the lights went out. Out of the trash she found some glass and began carving. It took a few minutes, but finally she'd etched something into the cement.  
  
332231418472. BORN 2000, DIED 2020. YOU'LL ALWAYS BE MY BEST FRIEND.  
  
"Damn, damn straight," she'd smirked as tears pricked at her eyes. She'd wandered away humming 'Taps' (the first thing she could ever remember him commenting on- "Bugle noi'e outside, Sevvun-Six-Sevvun.") and vowed not to ever let anyone know how her bad judgement... had killed her brother.  
  
NO! It hadn't been her fault. If anything, it was Manticore. They killed him.  
  
She didn't FEEL guilt. She wasn't supposed to FEEL anything. Least of all guilt.  
  
A month pregnant, alone in the world and all the help in the world was supposed to come from some stupid paper? Pfft.  
  
"So what are you gonna do about it? The baby, I mean," asked Ally that night at the bonfire. Ally spent a lot of her time sloping off to some place she called 'my quiet place' to read through all the random crap she'd accumulated.  
  
"What do you care?"  
  
"Well... you don't seem to have any friends. Or family."  
  
"I guess I don't."  
  
"A friend of mine... he's a doctor. He's not practicing much any more, but- well, he could refer you to someplace. Depends, really- what are you planning to do about the baby?"  
  
"Dunno," said Kara shortly, waving her hands over the heat.  
  
"You can't just sit on your ass and hope it'll go away, Kara."  
  
Kara threw Ally a piercing look. "I don't want to think about it."  
  
"I'm trying to HELP you. I mean, would you particularly like to give birth in some back alley somewhere with freaks standing around?"  
  
Kara flinched at the word 'freaks'. The tabloids were picking up on the situation with transgenics- some early experiment had been splashed all over the front page. "Seems to be my destiny."  
  
Kara glared into the fire. Her confusion was almost childlike- she was not a freak. She was a soldier. A soldier. They told her that every day of her life, from her very first lessons. Words she couldn't even read, blasted over a screen. YOU ARE A SOLDIER. YOU ARE A SOLDIER. YOU DEFEND THE COUNTRY. YOU SERVE YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER. YOU TAKE ORDERS. YOU FIGHT. YOU KILL. YOU PURSUE. YOU ARE A SOLDIER.  
  
And in the barracks, and in her cell, had been words to remind her- DUTY. DISCIPLINE. HONOUR. OBEDIENCE. On the back of the door in her cell was a placard with THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE BORN TO DO written on it.  
  
Every morning she woke up staring at it. Drills, lectures, training, war games, practical lessons... she was a SOLDIER, doing what she was BORN TO DO. The propaganda stung at her mind all day, every day.  
  
All her life- she was 'Soldier', 'Private', 'X5'- now she was a freak.  
  
Not a freak. A soldier. Not even a subject- soldier, soldier, soldier.  
  
I fight, she thought grimly. I kill. I pursue. I take orders and defend the country.  
  
I'm not a MOTHER.  
  
It was a lie, it had to be. Or a trick. Or... some sort of punishment. They'd planted this alien thing inside her body because she'd done something bad.  
  
What the hell for?  
  
Everything reminded her of the other members of her unit. A lot of people smoked in her part of town, and she started one day when she saw a girl with a mop of curly brown hair taking a deep drag from her cigarette. But she'd relaxed a little after. It wasn't her. She was in deep cover- not to mention twenty years old.  
  
Like 453. She smoked since she was thirteen, maybe about twelve. She wasn't the most sociable of the X5s... she got on well with 702. She rarely slept, just sat up in her cell and gazed into the darkness, lighting up one cigarette after another. When something bad happened, like a demerit, a failed mission, a bad day... she'd viciously press the lit ends into the soft skin on her wrists, into her knees and ankles, into her arms. By the time morning came the burns were barely visible, the X5s healed so fast. She left her hurt in yesterday.  
  
And 472. She saw his ghost only once, sitting at the top of some impressive steps into an office building. She could see quite well, but could have sworn she could see him down there, not a prone seizing wreck in desperate need of treatment and answers. Just sleeping. He looked peaceful.  
  
She almost got up, almost walked away with him in her mind, but she couldn't bear it. She couldn't leave him alone again, where nobody would ever care for him.  
  
What's after death? asked her sarcastic voice softly. He's just dead and cold. He's gone and dead and he's never coming back. He's dead.  
  
She sat there all night until the sun came up and she saw there was nothing where she'd thought he lay. Instead of 472, she thought of 799, aged sixteen, curled up on the floor of her cell.  
  
"Hey, come on. They wanted us in the quad early, remember?" 799 didn't respond. "What's with you?"  
  
799 breathed through her teeth.  
  
Kara had begun to feel scared. "Are you OK? What are you doing on the floor?"  
  
"I'm not gonna make it."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I'm weak, not strong."  
  
"Yes, well, if you're weak it's usually assumed that you're not strong," kidded 767. "Come on. I- I don't know why you've decided to get all whiny all of a sudden, but being on the freezing floor can't help your mood. Let's go to our mission briefing and then go for breakfast, then we'll lift weights or something, OK? Or go on the target range. You like guns. Just quit moping, all right?"  
  
799 looked at her mournfully as Kara helped her up. "I wish I were strong like you. Nothing ever phases you. You're such a good soldier."  
  
She squirmed. "Need I remind you that an army marches on its stomach? The faster we're briefed for our mission, the faster we get breakfast. C'mon!"  
  
Kara had never been very good at comforting people. Sadness freaked her out.  
  
And about the baby on the way...  
  
She definitely didn't want to think about it. For the first time in about two weeks, Kara Dean slept.  
  
Her subconscious, usually a bleak expanse where voices were numb and colour did not exist, was disturbed with dreams that night. She dreamed of being back in her cell at Manticore, back in the breeding programme, with her breeding partner. I thought we were attacked, she thought idly.  
  
But she soon enough she didn't even think... It was weird. She didn't feel ugly and used and embarrassed, but warm and happy. Kara felt wistful too. It was just sex- didn't mean a thing. She hated it like this, and a lonely ache took her. She found herself with a single tear coursing down either cheek. "I wish someone loved me," she found herself mumbling indistinctly.  
  
"Why are you crying? You know I do." He kissed her. Something was definitely wrong here. Her breeding partner barely had been able to look at her, clothed or otherwise. She and some of the other females out on sentry duty had had a laugh about that, questioning "... exactly which team he's on..." but it had unnerved her. In all the cheesy novels and women's magazines she'd half-read on missions, what they ordered her to do with him was supposed to be something genuine.  
  
THIS was genuine. But it wasn't real. She was all alone, why did someone love her?  
  
Kara didn't get love. She was a soldier, and a bad one at that. She left 472 behind, she left Splint behind-  
  
"I do," he insisted.  
  
Wait a second.  
  
His voice was so different. He wasn't being curt and bossy. Kara suddenly realised and pulled away in confusion.  
  
She wasn't with her breeding partner. She was with Splint.  
  
Kara woke up alarmed and sore, blinking rapidly. She shook her head. "All right, that was just perverted. Great. On top of everything else, I'm depraved. T'riffic."  
  
Best dream I ever had, thought her sarcastic inner voice cheerfully, causing her to go an incredible shade of red. "Shut UP," she said aloud.  
  
She picked herself up out of her sleeping place groggily and then, feeling her morning sickness make itself known as per usual, raced into the alley.  
  
"Hey, Kara," called a voice as she mopped at her face wearily.  
  
Kara grunted something that could be construed as a greeting.  
  
"Baby holding up?" asked Ally, coming to stand nearer her.  
  
"Mmm, he's fine."  
  
"Why do you say 'he'? I thought you hadn't gotten any of those tests done."  
  
"I just know, Ally." Kara wished she'd go away. Ally seemed to sense this- her grave optimism was almost unbearable.  
  
"Got you something." Kara perked up a little.  
  
"Money?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Food, then?"  
  
"Not that either, I'm afraid. I got you a notebook and a pen."  
  
Kara gave Ally a look of disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"  
  
"I know you don't like me. But I'm a woman on a crusade, Kara Dean."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Get lost."  
  
Ally seemingly turned to go and murmured in her ear as she left. "I know what you are, Kara."  
  
Kara froze. "Excuse me?"  
  
"I've seen you without that sweatshirt, Kara. I saw your barcode. Don't worry- I know what it's like to be a freak. I won't say a thing 'cept this- there's a lot of people around this morning. A LOT of people who weren't here yesterday and have been asking around for women with blonde hair and barcodes, do you understand?"  
  
She looked at her fearfully and nodded.  
  
"You'd better split, Kara. They didn't look all that jovial. From the government, I'll bet."  
  
Kara picked up the small bag of things she'd accumulated over her month and week in the Outside. Ally called. "Kara, take it. It's a gift."  
  
Hesitantly, Kara took the gift from Ally. Some gift- a thick notebook with a dark green cover and a thin black pen to write with.  
  
"What the hell's it for?" asked Kara dubiously.  
  
"Writing things eases pain almost as much as reading them," reasoned Ally.  
  
"O-K," replied Kara, not wishing to argue. "I'm gone. Th-Thanks, Ally."  
  
Ally waved, picked up her suitcase and sauntered away. Kara began to jog. She was halfway down the street before she spoke to herself.  
  
"Jovial? Damn, she reads too much."  
  
Her escape was fairly uneventful until she reached the bus station into the next sector and out of the city, finding a lockdown imposed almost moments after she entered. Men dispersed through the crowd, giving her description. Dilating her pupils she saw some were carrying copies of her last Manticore mugshot. She bit her lip.  
  
Perhaps they were from Manticore. Perhaps it wasn't dead and she wasn't all alone. This was a comforting thought- she might be able to go home. A roof over her head, regular meals and more or less all of the people she grew up with. She could see 657 and 418 and 799 and everyone else again.  
  
She could go into battle with them. She could feel power and blood thirst ringing in her body, and no more guilt... never any guilt. She didn't have to feel guilty and freaked and scared any more, if they were from Manticore and she went with them.  
  
But this went against protocol. Why all the commotion? They were actually stopping buses that were halfway down the street. She'd thought tactical manoeuvres of this ilk were all about stealth.  
  
Creeping from shadow to shadow, she imagined dragging a child through all of this. God, she found it bad enough, and she'd been in far more stressful situations than this.  
  
Trying finally to blend in with a crowd of stopped passengers, she found someone tapping her shoulder.  
  
"Miss, we'll have to ask you to come with us," asked the operative. He was pleasant-sounding actually, pity he was the enemy.  
  
She had to get out. Manticore- everything she'd ever known- had come crashing down on her, and now the transgenics were under definite threat.  
  
"No."  
  
"We're authorised to take you by force if necessary."  
  
"Whatever. I've got a bus to catch, and I hate holding everyone up."  
  
"Frankly, you haven't got a choice."  
  
Ooh, that's a daring way of putting it, sneered her sarcastic voice. Didn't even try to sugarcoat it for me. I must be growing up.   
  
She put on a confused face, followed him through the crowd, feigning cooperation. "Hey, can I say something?"  
  
"I'd prefer it if you didn't talk."  
  
"I don't know your name," she said innocently, "so I'll call you Sir, is that OK?"  
  
They headed around the back of a bus, where an SUV was parked. As soon as they were out of sight of everyone else she grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the side of the bus. "I'll make it easy for you. I was too powerful, you fought for hours, I finally got away by the merest stroke of luck, OK?"  
  
He glared at her. "Transgenic scum."  
  
"Whoa. I've never been called THAT before," Kara said sarcastically.  
  
He threw her off easily. She hit the ground and gazed at him in confusion- no ordinary human had ever been able to take her on before.  
  
Kara jumped easily to her feet and kicked out at him, but he caught her foot and twisted it. She gritted her teeth against the yelp of pain.  
  
IT DOESN'T HURT, her instincts immediately snarled. YOU JUST THINK IT DOES BUT IT DOESN'T. SWITCH FEET, SOLDIER, AND FIGHT BACK!  
  
Obediently, she jumped onto her hurt foot and managed to catch him in the stomach with her good one.  
  
What the HELL is going on? barked her sarcastic voice. Take him out, soldier?  
  
She was revving herself to kill, trying to avoid his blows (who the hell taught this guy to fight, anyhow?) when there was a yell.  
  
"Hey, what's going on?"  
  
Some of the delayed passengers had strayed around the empty buses toward the promising sounds of a fight. Kara took advantage of his momentary distraction to kick him hard in the chest. She heard a rib break, two ribs and sped away to the nearest bus.  
  
She remembered sprints in Manticore, being lectured on proper posture and breathing. Head up, arms steady, feet never ever stopping, head up, head up, what kind of soldier do you think you are?  
  
Why am I like this? she thought angrily, not sarcastically. I was innocent once. I was happy once. I lived in a bad place but I- I never...  
  
I want to go home. As Kara thought this her face was warring with itself, trying not to grimace (that showed you were angry and easier to antagonise) or wail (that showed you were scared, and people told things when they were scared). She sorted her face out- unemotional, a mask of cool indifference.  
  
There. Great.  
  
She crashed onto the bus, to the alarm of the seated passengers and blurted, "We've got the all clear." She was a smooth liar, you had to give her credit for that. Then Kara lost her cool, seeing the crowd outside stir. "Drive, dammit!"  
  
The driver jumped, stared at her and started the bus. It trundled slowly out of the car park.   
  
I thought you were the group's master of Battle Psychology? her inner voice smirked.  
  
She couldn't even reply. Kara was sick of the Outside, sick of people and predators and dirt and sirens and guilt. She stalked into a seat.  
  
Shaking her head, she leaned her head against the window and pulled out the notebook and pen from her bag.  
  
I'M HAVING THIS KID, she wrote in a vicious uppercase scrawl. THEN I'LL SPLIT AND LEAVE HIM IN A CHILDREN'S HOME. IF THIS KID'S ANYTHING LIKE ME HE'LL KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR HIM FROM DAY ONE.  
  
I'M NOT. THE ONLY THING I COULD EVER DO IS COMPLETELY DESTROY HIS LIFE.  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. All the songs on the soundtrack belong to their respective owners. Not me. So don't sue.  
  
NOTE: Something- whenever I reference 472 I'll probably have Kara begin to refer to him as Matt. Just in case anyone would find that confusing. I might try and find an explanation for that change. On the other hand I'll probably leave it up to all of you.  
  
I've got something to ask in case there's a perfectly good answer for this question- if the '09 escapees all had clones, then why didn't Lydecker know what they looked like? Ames White even flashed a picture of Sam around in 'Freak Nation'. I mean, of course you'd have to take into account things like diet and living circumstance, blah blah, but REALLY. Their looks wouldn't have changed THAT much. That's just odd.  
  
SONGS FOR CHAPTER THREE:  
  
Kara's Dream- 'A Woman's Worth' by Alicia Keys  
  
The Trip To The Bus Shelter and the Fight- 'The Glass Prison' by Dream Theater 


	4. Chapter Four: Tale Era La Sua Vita

Over the next couple of months, Kara ditched her Carson City surname and changed it to Paul (in Salt Lake City), Benson (in Denver) and Marlowe (in Lincoln). In the middle of her fifth month she relocated to Des Moines and decided on Maven for a new name.  
  
"Frank, Dean, Paul, Benson, Marlowe and Maven," she muttered to herself, staring in the shop window in distaste. "Sounds like I've developed some sort of penchant for weird names."  
  
She'd always hung onto the same first name- Kara. She didn't know why. It was short, frank, concise and to the point. Sort of like her.  
  
"Except the part about being short," she said. Kara had had a late growth spurt and as a result had wound up one of the tallest female X5s, along with 799. This made the two of them stand out, which wasn't good.  
  
X5-799. She did miss her, in a funny sort of way.  
  
She turned her jacket collar up to hide her barcode. It looked funny. Kara silently hoped her potential employer would only dismiss it as lousy fashion sense. But it was OK. The highly fashion-conscious rarely made the cut looking after small children.  
  
That was right. Kara was meeting with a woman advertising for a '20 yrs-up woman to attend boy (3 yrs.) during day...' Her eyes had widened at the salary. With that sort of money she could rent an apartment and pay bills, and maybe even buy food...  
  
Kara suspected the fact that she was five months pregnant wouldn't score her any points. But hey, the advertisement hadn't said that no pregnant women would need apply.  
  
And she DESPERATELY needed some mo-  
  
"Maven!" barked someone, walking outside from the takeaway food shop. Kara sighed.  
  
"Mrs Sneddon, I keep telling you that although I rent your back room for a generously miniscule sum, that alone does not give you the right to unceremoniously call me by my last name. I am not one of your employees- nor, indubitably, do I care to become one," said Kara.  
  
Carlene Sneddon was nonplussed, and for the first time in years Kara Maven could take pride in the fact that of all the women in Des Moines, she was probably the most intelligent. She'd spent much of her teenage years in other countries and the novelty had quickly worn off. Everyone seemed to go so SLOWLY, on the Outside.  
  
Her first trip to a foreign country had been to Italy, when she was fourteen. She'd had a hard time concealing her joy when she'd found out that she was being sent with 657, the X5 she'd hero-worshipped since her earliest years. The objective was to intercept a meeting between two government agents in a movie theatre.  
  
The two of them had been set up in the tiniest house imaginable for a few days, to get their heads straight and memorize their plans. Although days were spent in espionage, intensive discussions of the Plan (one of those things you know you're supposed to spell with a capital) and private study, the nights and evenings she'd been able to spend, so dizzyingly, frighteningly far from the place they'd grown up in, were magical. She hadn't been able remember the last time she'd felt so at ease around any of her sibs since the simplification when she was nine.  
  
The night before the execution of the Plan, she'd found her sister sitting at the table in their tiny kitchen unit clutching a glass of tea in her hand. The heat didn't seem to bother her at all, and she just stared at the wall dully.  
  
"Hey," Kara had greeted her sister warmly, so indescribably happy that she could do that again. She frowned. "You're not supposed to consume caffienated drinks, 657, they're- are you OK?"  
  
"I'm fine," said 657 hollowly. "Just fine."  
  
"No, you're not. I can tell. Really, there's nothing for you to be not fine about. We're here together and weather's nice and the Plan will go absolutely exactly as devised."  
  
"If you say so."  
  
"What's WRONG?" Kara had asked desperately, unable to bear it. Her older unit member had been more of a big sister than ever those few days- weird little gestures, like piling out her Italian texts for her before Kara had even got up from the two hours of quiet rest time 657 had insisted she have. She sat down opposite her.  
  
"I have a peculiar wistful feeling of longing and angst and I'm not sure why."  
  
"Well, what brought it on?" Kara asked, bewildered. She was so confused. Her beautiful, perfect older sister never gave in to emotion.  
  
657 tightened her grasp on the hot glass. The heat didn't seem to hurt 657, but it was driving her mood, so Kara had reached forward and taken the hand in a pseudo-comforting gesture before trying to manoeuvre the burning hot glass away.  
  
"No- leave it there. I like it." X5-657 said this sharply, and Kara had felt stung. For once she couldn't think of a witty reply.  
  
"It doesn't matter what we like or don't like. That's what you've always told m-" she began.  
  
"Leave it there." She was not bossy or businesslike, the way Kara had always admired her, but almost dangerous as she said this.  
  
"OK, ma'am," said Kara meekly.   
  
She'd got up to leave when she heard 657's voice. "Wait, don't go."  
  
Slowly, Kara had turned around. "Yes, ma'am?"  
  
"Quit calling me ma'am and come here. I've got something for you."  
  
Kara edged forward silently expecting a reprimand, and to her shock X5-657 rose from her seat and put her arms around her for a few seconds.  
  
It was the first time anyone had ever given her a hug.  
  
She stood still, and when 657 sensed that her sister wasn't responding (which was quickly, even for an X5- she was just so PERCEPTIVE) she immediately backed off.  
  
"What the hell was that?" asked Kara softly.  
  
"Makes me feel better," X5-657 had shrugged.  
  
"I don't require being made to feel better," she'd retorted.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
A pause.  
  
"I was thinking about X5-600, OK? I was thinking about how I... want... him."  
  
"Why? You're not in heat, are you?"  
  
X5-657 sighed and gave her the smallest of smiles. "You're endearingly dense sometimes, do you know that? I was thinking about how I want him here with me, because I've been away from him days and when I get back I'll only be with him one night before he's being deployed in Germany for a whole MONTH. I spend so much time with him, it's insane. I can't imagine sitting around a whole night without talking with him. We've almost never been apart- all my other missions we were always paired because we work so well together."  
  
"I know that. I've got a damn room between you two, you think I don't hear you sneaking in and out?"  
  
657 seemed to be considering something. "767, do you believe in love?"  
  
She asked this with the same tentative tone a small child would ask a more cynical peer if they believed in the Tooth Fairy.  
  
"Love? I suppose. It's not what we feel, though."  
  
"I believe in it. I know it."  
  
"That's... good. What does it feel like?"  
  
657 looked annoyed. "Holy shit, it doesn't FEEL like anything. It's not a disease. It's just THERE all the time and it makes me feel good."  
  
"It's not something we're allowed to have, though."  
  
"God- listen, do you love me?"  
  
"I- I guess..."  
  
She looked at Kara with something that wavered between disdainful and irate. "You are hopeless, soldier. HOPELESS," she spat, and Kara had cringed.  
  
Then X5-657 softened. "I apologise. I was way out of line there."  
  
Suddenly, Kara had grinned wickedly. "Ehi, il soldato, è venuto su. Su che sono delle sorelle per se no per togliere la sua collera? Ma preoccupa neanche circa esso. Il due di noi, abbiamo bisogno di una distrazione, nonostante. Dovremmo.. Non so... rivede il Progetto?"  
  
She rattled all this off very fast.  
  
657 pumped a fist. "Excellent, you've been practicing!"  
  
"Maven? KARA MAVEN!"  
  
Kara was brought out of her reverie by her landlady's voice. She sighed.  
  
"Your rent, generously miniscule as it is, is late! I have children to feed, you know!"  
  
Kara rolled her eyes. Sneddon acted like she had an entire bright-eyed brood clinging at her skirts, when in fact her 'children' were a twenty-eight-year-old son (who spent all his time watching 'Ricci Lake' reruns in a darkened room) and a daughter, thirty-two (who perpetually dressed in leopard print and often mixed up such complex commands as HOT and COLD).  
  
"Don't you roll your eyes at me! That baby might get you some liberties, Maven, but not here. If you don't have my money by Friday you're out on your behind!"  
  
Kara laughed as Carlene stormed back inside. "Behind?" she called. "Why don't you just say ass, you DORK?"  
  
Setting off for the cross town bus shelter, Kara was very glad of her Common Verbal Usage course, although it had taken her a long time to get it. ROCKS/ROCK had been a tough one- It's ROCKS for one thing, ROCK for many things, her brain automatically reminded her.  
  
On the bus a young boy offered her his seat in a beautifully old-fashioned gesture, but Kara was too pent-up to appreciate it. "There's nothing WRONG with me!" she barked, making everyone jump.  
  
The swaying motion of the rickety bus was doing nothing for her mood. There was a loud clank from the engine and Kara jumped a little.  
  
"Got it?" asked 657 for the thousandth time, 'it' being her handgun. Kara, too excited to be irritated by this, nodded.  
  
Both carried in concealed weapons as they snuck into the theatre. The agents, they knew, were a man and woman in their late thirties, and would be sitting together in the third row from the entrance. Luckily the film theatre was fairly deserted so they could not confuse the targets with anyone else.  
  
Kara had never seen a fictional film before. She knew she wouldn't have any desire to either, after dragging herself through that ordeal. It was some terribly boring saga of a well-endowed Latina and an obnoxious, oblivious gorilla-man who seemed to take well over two hours to even hint at their utterly unrealistic ardour for one another.  
  
One agent entered about fifteen minutes into the film, the other just as Latina Lady was preparing to cast herself off a cliff. Kara didn't have the time to feel immensely glad, her body was revving for battle.  
  
A kind of gleam had entered 657's eyes, and she began to rise from her seat slowly, slowly, so slowly you could barely register that where she had sat she now stood straight, though with her knees bent a little as if about to jump.  
  
Kara switched her own gun from one hand to the other, knowing quite well that she was right-handed. Some X5s, mostly the older ones, were ambidextrous for practical purposes. She was ready to cover her sister if necessary.  
  
She cocked the gun suddenly, and just as Latina Lady onscreen let out a wild shriek she fired. With a BANG the female operative slumped forward in her seat.  
  
From the other five or so people in the theatre came confused yells. The man turned in his seat, reached for his own gun. X5-657 was too fast for him, to fast for anyone. Before he had even fully registered who fired the gun, he was dead in the aisle.  
  
And how hard and fast Kara had ran, as the two had fled the scene...  
  
The house was biggish for a post-Pulse residence, and Kara rather liked the look of it. It was at least homier than the room she was renting. From outside she could smell good food and clean sheets, two smells she'd always liked.  
  
She ruffled her lengthening hair, glanced in the metal setting of the doorbell, smoothed it down, inspected it again and fluffed it up again, preferring it that way.  
  
Kara rang the doorbell.  
  
A little boy with red hair, obviously her potential charge, answered it almost immediately. He inspected her. "You've got a big tummy," he observed.  
  
"I hadn't noticed," said Kara dryly. "I suppose you haven't noticed your rather small amount of tact either, kid, hmm?"  
  
He blinked in bewilderment and for once Kara decided this probably wasn't the best time for sarcasm.  
  
"Where's your mom?"  
  
"I'll get her," said the kid, scampering away. Kara stood very still, breathing steadily in and out.  
  
"Mommy, there's a lady 'ere and she's silly, she said silly stuff and she's got a big tummy," she heard the boy babbling from the other end of the hallway.  
  
"Jamie, you know that's not a nice thing to say. And I want-" The mother stopped as she reached the open door. Kara pasted a smile on her her face and extended a hand.  
  
"Hello, my name is Kara Maven and I'm calling about the caretaking job for your little boy."  
  
"Um, hi. I'm Rebecca Seymour and you've obviously already met Jamie. Wipe your feet as you come in."  
  
Kara raised an eyebrow at her retreating back. Jamie, who was gawping at her, giggled. She smiled, glanced one more time at the metal settings of the doorbell and decided she probably looked more credible with neat hair, smoothing it down nervously as she entered.  
  
She had to go through a great deal of third degree, transforming her sordid life into a mass of half-truths.  
  
"... and what about when your baby is born? Will you be able to rely on relatives for help?"  
  
Kara winced. "I'm an only child, my parents live in... Washington and his father and I are separated."  
  
"Oh, really?"  
  
Yep, the cold, narcissistic bastard and I have been 'separated' eons, Kara's sarcastic inner voice contributed. Asshole. I hope he's rotting in a ditch somewhere.  
  
Of course, she wasn't bitter or anything. She was all for justice. That was exactly what he deserved.  
  
Of course.  
  
Half an hour later, Mrs Seymour rose from the kitchen table and shook hands with Kara. "I'll get in touch."  
  
"You can reach me at Sneddon's Corner Store."  
  
"Oh, do you work there?" asked Mrs Seymour, looking a little relieved.  
  
"Nope, I live there. They let me live in the back room for twenty dollars a week," said Kara in what she hoped was a flippant tone.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Mrs Seymour?"  
  
"Yes, Kara?"  
  
"Can- can I have something to eat, please? I'm very hungry."  
  
She looked startled and finally nodded. "Anything in particular?"  
  
Kara could name a million and one foods she would happily devour- all so different to her Manticore fare of high-energy stuff with the texture of cardboard and variety of bread, water and bread. She answered, "Anything filling."  
  
Mrs Seymour went to her cupboard and pulled out various foodstuffs, gingerly laying them on the table. "Make yourself a couple of sandwiches," she said awkwardly.  
  
Kara nodded gratefully and looked down at the food, a little daunted. She knew it didn't take a genius to make a sandwich, but she was much better at finding food when it was scarce than at preparing it when it was laid out in front of her. Nevertheless, a few minutes later she'd made three lopsided sandwiches and was given a bag for them.  
  
She hated this. She hated charity. Stupid kid. Stupid breeding partner. Stupid Manticore.  
  
But she had to try one last thing. As Mrs Seymour, a wide-eyed Jamie hiding behind her, ushered Kara through the front door, Kara abruptly turned and said loudly, "I really need this job, you know."  
  
"Yes... I know. We'll be in touch, Kara."  
  
As Mrs Seymour closed the door, Kara knew she wasn't going to get the job. She hadn't mentioned her plans for giving the baby up for adoption (partly for fear it would make her sound uncompassionate). In order to reassure herself, she stamped off, not sure where she was going, snarling Italian swearwords under her breath.  
  
She ended up in a bare, asphalted excuse for a playground and collapsed onto a bench. Suck it up, soldier! barked the sarcastic part of her brain. You've no right to complain.  
  
"I've got EVERY fucking right to complain!" she muttered, wringing her hands. She ate the sandwiches too quickly and still felt hollow inside.  
  
No. Not hollow. Not with this alien thing Manticore had planted into her body. She couldn't have done it herself. She'd never have wished this on herself. It was unreal. She was a soldier!  
  
It was getting harder and harder to hold onto that.  
  
Kara couldn't face going back and facing Sneddon this way. She just sat there, watching kids throw a ball around and a small gaggle of girls in their early teens perched atop rusty play equipment, talking.  
  
Hours went by and the shadows grew long. Girls began yawning and complaining for their dinners, paltry as they would definitely be, and jumped nimbly down, retrieving various brothers and sisters and trailing them home.  
  
She thought back to better times- mostly to her missions abroad. After her mission in Italy she'd been in parts of Africa with a team of assorted Washington and Wyoming X5s, as well as a bigger group of X6s. She'd been fifteen years old by this time, and had turned sixteen upon her return. Neither 472 nor 418 had been part of the Africa team and Kara had, against all her better judgement, pined for them with all her heart. Still, there was no better feeling than catching their eyes as the weary deployment made their triumphant return. It was autumn and the whole of the forest was golden and orange, when Kara had returned.  
  
X5-472 had looked so happy. She'd given him the smallest of winks and a very slow, very surreptitious thumbs-up. He'd thumped 418 on the shoulder and pointed, and both had returned the gesture as they'd all been hurried across the quad towards their respective blocks for a well-earned rest. Before she'd been whisked into Block Sixteen she'd just had the time to mouth GOOD TO BE BACK at them before snapping to attention.  
  
Probably the highlight of Matt's teenage years, smirked the sarcastic part of her brain, and while she did not appreciate the dig at her brother she liked referring to him that way. Somehow Matt Liosis sounded so much more warm than 332231418472.  
  
She hadn't a clue about 418, but Kara missed him a lot. Possibly even more than Matt, which was insane because she and Matt had been together since their nursery days. But because she was the oldest of the ones born in 2000, she was moved into the barracks first. 418 had warmed to her immediately and 657 had sort of taken Kara under her wing. Then the others had come, in ones and twos, over a series of months, and they became a little trio. 418, 767 and 472. That was how it was meant to be.  
  
Kara rose from the bench at dawn and left silently. And half an hour later there she was, staking out the front entrance of the downtown medical centre.  
  
"I gotta see someone," she muttered to the secretary as soon as the doors opened. She tried to look this woman in the face and was given a look of contempt.  
  
"We usually need you to make an appointment, dear," she said, and Kara mentally added that to the list of terms of endearment she'd never, ever call her unborn son in the, oh, ten minutes she'd see him.  
  
Because REALLY. She wasn't quite THAT cold-hearted. She'd ask to hold the little brat a little while. Maybe she'd even name him, if she was feeling generous. Which Kara didn't suppose she would be after hours and hours in labour.  
  
Kara felt irritated. "I live in the back room of a damn corner store, ma'am. I'm allowed to GET calls provided they don't extend over ten minutes, and never under any circumstances would my landlady actually consider letting me make an appointment. If I have to sit here all day until someone is ten seconds late for an appointment I don't care. I just need to speak with someone."  
  
She wandered into a hard little seat, tapping her feet continually on the floor as the waiting room filled up and until the secretary poked her gingerly on the shoulder. "You'll be seen now. Go down the corridor to the fifth room on the left."  
  
The doctor's name was Hereward, but Kara instinctively nicknamed her the Good Doctor. This had been her joke with 418, because most of the doctors at Manticore were anything but good.  
  
Of course they were TALENTED. They were the best of the best of the best. But she distinctly remembered jokey conversations with X5-418.  
  
"767, how goes it?"  
  
"Well, the Good Doctors Jekyll, Moriarty and Frankenstein broke my wrist and elbow. For research purposes, of course."  
  
"Of course."   
  
"Technically speaking, I shouldn't even be back on the field. I haven't entirely regained function in my elbow."  
  
"I gathered that when I saw that you're holding it at a weird angle. How will you go on the shooting range like that?"  
  
"Well, the Good Doctors said I should have proper function in about two days, but those little hypochondriacs the X6s have the antibodies in their blood malfunctioning, and the whole damn infirmary is full."  
  
"We are lucky, though, aren't we?" That was the bit that would cause both of them to dissolve into cynical laughter.  
  
"Miss Maven? Miss Maven, are you all right?"  
  
Kara snapped back into the present. "Fine. Just fine."  
  
The Good Doctor fixed her with a questioning gaze and sat down at the desk with a file. The whole room seemed to be a filing cabinet masquerading as a surgery- all the walls were shelves overflowing with files and papers.  
  
"Are you here for anything specific?"  
  
Kara strived to eliminate any intimidating facial expressions from her countenance. "I was wanting information on adoption. I'm not in a position to raise a child and probably never will be."  
  
Hereward blinked and said finally, "You'll get better information from Social Services, Kara."  
  
"Just tell me what you know," said Kara in a begging tone.  
  
"In this day and age it can be difficult to find people willing to adopt. Basically, Miss Maven, you will lose your rights as a legal parent. You will not be allowed contact with your baby until it reaches-"  
  
"He," corrected Kara loudly. "It's a boy. I've got a feeling, doctor."  
  
"- HE reaches the age of eighteen, in which case you should be prepared for the fact that your son might not want contact with you. Tell me, does the father know you're pregnant?"  
  
Kara considered this. Even though her breeding partner was undoubtedly a traitorous bastard, she was prepared to admit that he probably hadn't known she was pregnant.  
  
Not that that would have influenced his decision in any way.  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you have contact? The father's consent is needed for this."  
  
"I don't know where he is," Kara said.  
  
The Good Doctor looked at her strangely. "Why did you have a child with him?"  
  
Kara shrugged, but when she spoke it was dully, without emotion. "It was necessary."  
  
Sympathetically, the Good Doctor Hereward said, "Did you agree to sex, Miss Maven?"  
  
Agree? Ha. What did she know? Stupid woman. It was a mission.  
  
"I guess. It was necessary."  
  
The Good Doctor began to talk, writing down some telephone numbers and pushing them toward her, and when she finally gave Kara leave to go. Kara swept her hair unconcernedly over one shoulder and heard the Good Doctor make a small shocked noise.  
  
Kara froze. "What?" said Kara. When Dr Hereward said nothing she turned around. "WHAT?"  
  
"You've got a barcode," said the doctor faintly.  
  
Kara swore silently inside her head. Her jacket collar was crooked, the left side up, the right side sticking out at a weird angle.  
  
She gave the doctor a look of fierce contempt. "Shit, really? I'd never noticed."  
  
Kara left as quickly as transgenic-ly possible, slamming the door hard behind her. Plaster fell from the ceiling like snow for a few seconds and Kara broke into an awkward jog over the cord carpeting and out into the street.  
  
RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN THEY SAW IT THEY SAW YOUR BARCODE AND NOW YOU'RE IN TROUBLE RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN- Kara's instinctive voice screamed at her.  
  
She skidded to a halt at the pavement, nearly going straight onto the road. Sirens were filling the air.  
  
Dear God, not again. Tabloids calling her a 'bloodthirsty freak of modern science' were bad enough, but-  
  
But nothing, interrupted her sarcastic inner voice. What are you bitching about? You ARE bloodthirsty, Kara Maven, you used to take immense pride in that fact. And you ARE also a freak, at least out here, so-  
  
But forget it. She had to make a run for it.  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. All the songs on the soundtrack belong to their respective owners. Not me. So don't sue.  
  
NOTE: Just something before I launch into a long haul that you'd do well to skip- I find it between funny and tragic (I find a lot of things between funny and tragic) that the X-series probably would have known the words 'infirmary' or 'shotgun' before they had a clue of the words 'hug' or 'miss' (as in "I miss him." rather than "Your attack right there was missing something. You will be dragged into Psy-Ops immediately!")  
  
Sorry about the silly flashbacks. As you've probably guessed, flashbacks were one of my favourite parts of DA (making 'Boo' a good episode for me- "What the hell was that?" "Flashback. Happens all the time."). And I really like delving into Kara's past and having my own weirdo version of Manticore to fiddle around with.  
  
And sorry about the pointlessness of this chapter. I'm hoping to have the story really begin to move in the Chapter Five.  
  
Kara's long string of Italian means approximately, "Hey, soldier, come on. What are sisters for if not for taking out your anger on? But don't even worry about it. The two of us, we need a distraction, though. We should... I don't know... revise the Plan?"  
  
And just remember- I have never been to any of the places so far specified in the story (well, except Italy), so I'm sorry if there are geographical errors. Let me know and I'll correct them..  
  
I've been thinking about Kara, and I've been wondering a lot about how to describe her looks. Of course Kara would have looked like Jenna Marie Gooch (who I am eternally grateful to for portraying Eva for those few seconds), but seeing as Jenna Marie Gooch has only ever reportedly been seen on TV as Eva, and even then only for a few seconds, that doesn't give me heaps and heaps to go on. Personally I think Kara would look a bit like Sarah Jane Morris, who's famous (sort of) for playing Ralph in 'Bag 'Em'. Has anyone ever considered the fact that Eva (in the two seconds she was seen) and Ralph look a little alike? I think they've got the same nose and colouring (although it's hard to tell- the lighting in Eva's death scene was FREAKY). She looks very Kara-like in some 'Bag 'Em' caps I've seen, and in one glorious image she has a tiny hint of Kara's oh-so-intimidating Smirk.  
  
Maybe Adult!Kara's got a tiny dash of Lorin Heath (CeCe from 'Freak Nation') thrown in for good measure- the body type, for example. Her hair is also that length when she leaves Manticore. It's very nice to have two actresses from the same show to compare Eva/Kara with, but it's absolute hell trying to find any pictures of them in other roles. So basically most of what you'll get about Kara is that she's tall, with nice cheekbones, scarily blue eyes, short-ish blonde hair and a really tiny birthmark on her right pointer finger that sort of resembles a crawling baby if you really use your imagination.  
  
And yes, I do realise I'm obsessed.  
  
(The birthmark MIGHT become a minor plot point in later chapters, you know)  
  
Now that I have your attention (ha), thanks to the three or so people who've reviewed so far. You're all absolutely brilliant.  
  
SONGS FOR CHAPTER FOUR:  
  
The Italy Flashbacks- 'All The Things She Said' by Tatu 


	5. Chapter Five: Dylan

Helena, Montana faintly puzzled Kara. Not least because she had the oddest comforting feeling of company despite the fact that, as usual, she lived and worked alone. It was getting increasingly harder to find work but easier to find food, as she felt so pathetic it seemed to gleam right through her skin and make people feel sorry for her. Maybe. She was in her eighth month and people were starting to feel suspicious of attractive homeless women in their final months of pregnancy.  
  
She found it pleasant, a lucky city. This was because she'd stepped off the bus only to find a lost wallet at her feet. She'd carefully extracted the money and splurged on a battered portable CD player- green, which was a colour she sorta liked.  
  
Kara, with careful phone calls and research, had found a group home she thought might like to take her baby when it was born. It was one of the few places of its ilk left standing in the midst of suburbia. She'd seen photos- RECENT ones, she was no idiot- and really liked the idea of her child growing up there. It was a much warmer, better-looking place than Manticore had ever been.  
  
But right then, Kara felt cold.  
  
She was sitting outside a corner store, all faded plastic and bright packages of things Kara knew she couldn't afford. Over the eight months since she'd been kicked rather rudely out of a lifestyle she readily admitted to enjoying, Kara had managed to accumulate various bits and pieces of clothing. Because Kara could only take what she could carry around with her from city to city, she tried to amuse herself whenever she got dressed by putting on random bits of clothing in weird combinations, or many at once. She did this in public bathrooms- Kara, used to getting changed with at least one other person nearby, found it weird that Outside people objected so fiercely to her so much as changing her sweater outdoors. Meh. Prudes.  
  
Kara meshed her fingers together and cupped them in front of her face, breathing on them vainly. It was pretty cold.  
  
Out of the darkness came a husky male voice- the speaker obviously had a sore throat. "Hey."  
  
Creep. Kara spoke smoothly over her shoulder. "Fuck off."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'll kick your ass."  
  
"Would you?"  
  
"Fuck OFF, tool."  
  
"I wouldn't say that." She could feel the air stir as the speaker reached her, leaned over and spoke into her ear from behind. "331065661418."  
  
With a gasp, Kara turned around. "418?"  
  
The speaker was a man, in his early twenties, with spiky dark blonde hair, sad eyes more cloudy grey than blue and a lip piercing. He was stockily built and muscly, wearing rumpled clothes. He grinned and coughed, clapping her on the shoulder. "Nice to see you, and your new vocabulary- well, damn."  
  
It was one of her group, one of her few great friends. X5-418.  
  
He came to sit next to her, leaning forward. He gave her a brief smile and then stared into the distance. "No, not 418. Dylan. Dylan Murphy."  
  
Dylan?  
  
Kara considered this. The name suddenly seemed to settle comfortably around his shoulders and spark in his eyes, making him a name, a person, from a designation.  
  
Dylan. Yeah.  
  
"You?" Dylan asked.  
  
"Kara Stefani."  
  
"Isn't that just the slightest bit conspicuous?"  
  
"Shut up, Wordboy." She messed up his hair with such force she nearly shoved him over. Dylan glared at her- he was two inches shorter than any of his unit, shorter than all the X5 females. This had been a source of great bitterness in his adolescence. "Holy crap, Dylan. You and your vocabulary."  
  
"It's nice to see you too! Have you got someplace to be, Kara?" he laughed, running a hand through his hair.  
  
Her eyebrows shot up to meet her hairline. "Are you kidding? Everyone's gotten so paranoid of pregnant women I walk through crowds with five feet of elbowroom. Why?"  
  
"Cool, Kara, that you have so much faith in me. I've got an apartment, come by."  
  
Kara could scarcely believe it. "Are you serious?"  
  
"No, Kara, I'm seriously going to let my pregnant sister sleep outdoors. I mean, I know our kind isn't into that whole comfort thing, but I could use some company." He stood up and extended a hand.  
  
She let him pull her up and blew out a tired breath. "Sister? Dylan, I'm not your sister."  
  
"Call yourself what you like, but I think it's got more of a ring than 'fellow unit member'."  
  
They set off down the street. He offered to take her backpack twice and she declined both times. "Wow, you're really taking this whole living-on-the-Outside thing right in stride," she commented.  
  
"Oh, I agree. Sister. Apartment. Name. Shocking."  
  
She rolled her eyes as they passed a group of people around a trashcan fire. She felt their eyes on her back and shivered. "Don't forget that hideous lip thing."  
  
"I like it."  
  
"You'll never get a girlfriend with that little metal dealie hanging outta your mouth. Who did it, anyway?"  
  
Dylan set off into a round of explosive coughing. Kara started and when he finally stopped she gave him a weird look. He smiled sarcastically and said, "Friend of mine around here. There's a surprising amount of our kind in the neighbourhood. Usually my place is crawling with them."  
  
"Body Piercing 101- when did Colonel Hardy allow that class?"  
  
"Not an X-series. An anomaly."  
  
"You're hanging with anomalies now?"  
  
"Sure, don't you?"  
  
A pause. "You are taking this Outside thing WAY in stride. How'd you find me?"  
  
"Don't ask me- I just sort of KNEW someone I knew was here. I could sort of smell you when I got to the street corner."  
  
"What do I smell like anyway? It shits me no end- I can always smell and hear everyone a mile away, but I don't know what I smell like. I just hope it's not, like, gross or anything."  
  
"I'll tell you. Stand still."  
  
Kara stopped in the middle of the smoky night street. Dylan faced her and inhaled deeply, eyes closed. Then his eyes opened and he nodded. "Sort of... like all of us," he said to her.  
  
"Oh, get lost! No wonder they always called you deficient!" she replied in disgust.  
  
The cloudy eyes glowered. "I wasn't DONE yet," Dylan snapped.  
  
"Well? Tell me what my signature is."  
  
He inhaled again, eyes open this time. "You're- different now. There's nothing of your old blankets or the target range. I smell wood and water and soft drinks and highways and crowds. I smell 472-" (Kara winced) "- and... a hospital. And I smell me. There's pregnancy too."  
  
"I smell like pregnancy?"  
  
"Mmm. Starved pregnancy."  
  
Kara chuckled. "Delightful."  
  
"I smell electricity on your hair and tears on your eyes. You've cried," said Dylan importantly.  
  
"Have not," she retorted.  
  
"Have too!" Dylan smiled. "And I smell pizza crusts on your mouth, but they're not recent. D'you like pizza?"  
  
"The crusts aren't bad. One time I was... I was in a park. A couple was on the bench, eating a pizza. In public. I coulda killed them just for the damn pizza. They left the box there and I ate all the crusts. Count yourself lucky it wasn't you, you probably woulda caught the guy's cold."  
  
They started to move off again. "I find it very hurtful when you keep throwing my deficiencies in my face after I was nice enough to tell you what your signature smell is so you could stop worrying it was disgusting."  
  
He had another explosive coughing fit. "What did I tell ya? OK, Dylan, whose pizza have you been stealing?"  
  
"Don't be- such a ham," he spluttered.  
  
"A what?" Kara asked, deeply offended.  
  
"Nothing. How're you holding up?"  
  
Kara rubbed at her forehead to expel all the tension. "Now?"  
  
"No... just- are you OK?"  
  
"Ah." She sighed. "Me being pregnant and all."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"It's... well, it's a boy," she said lamely. Kara steeled herself. "And I'm giving him up. He'll probably have a happier life without the Man after him."  
  
Dylan nodded. "Oh."  
  
"So how is it on your side of this place? Anti-transgenic feeling, I mean."  
  
"Not good. A bunch of us-" (here Dylan lowered his voice) "- are actually leaving here tomorrow morning. There's a huge community of transgenics in Seattle in a biohazard zone."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah, they call it Terminal City."  
  
Kara laughed nastily. "They're sitting ducks if they're making it their capital or somethin'."  
  
"You'd be surprised."  
  
She smirked. "Well, Dylan, I've got brains. Good luck to you and the anomaly simpletons- sure I can't convince you to blow them off and head in the opposite direction with yours truly?"  
  
They were silent a few minutes, each with their thoughts raging. Then Dylan's voice cut through the air as they passed a nightclub.  
  
"Are you- are you sure about giving him up? I mean- it wouldn't be horrendous, having a nephew."  
  
Kara put her head on one side. "Dylan, may I congratulate you for being the first person I've ever known to actually SAY the word 'horrendous'?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"But I'm sure. I can't be a mother. I'll kill the poor kid before his first birthday, I'm so impatient. You know how much I hate children. Even when I was a child I hated children."  
  
Dylan laughed. "True, sis, but remember that you might be my nephew's only chance of SURVIVING his first birthday."  
  
"How do you figure?"  
  
"Imagine you put the baby in a home. Fair enough. What if he's born with a barcode? What do you think they'll do to him? A baby- even an infamous X10- definitely won't be smart enough to cover up its barcode, Kara."  
  
Kara was silent. She hadn't considered this.  
  
"Or imagine that, OK, there's no barcode. But seizures. You didn't consider seizures, did you, Kara? They won't know what's happening. They wouldn't know what to do for him. Or suppose no barcode, no seizures but the phenomenal intelligence and motor function. What do you think they'll make of a toddler who'll most likely be identified as smart- WAY too smart. They'll get scared with good reason. They'll dispose of him before he even knows the ABCs, and for someone with his birthline, that won't be a very long time."  
  
"You're paranoid, Dylan."  
  
"Am I? Come on, Kara. You know that won't help him, putting him into a Children's Home. Come with me to Seattle tomorrow."  
  
Kara felt wrecked. She shook her head. Dylan was watching her very carefully.  
  
"Can we just concentrate on getting to your place, Dylan?"  
  
"Sure. Can't be easy for you, sis."  
  
She sniffed as he had another coughing fit. "You have no idea."  
  
Kara Stefani thought she was going to implode from exhaustion by the time they reached Dylan's place. It was a few floors up and surprise, surprise- the elevator was out. She collapsed onto the nearest likely looking thing- a couch. "GOD!" she sighed, lying back.  
  
"Well, you're home now," said Dylan from the doorway. "I'll organise us something to eat." He disappeared.  
  
Kara lifted her head a few moments later to look around the place. It was mostly bare, everything having been packed up. Dylan had obviously been preparing to leave very carefully- what Kara could see of the apartment had been cleaned scrupulously, and only two boxes of belongings sat demurely beside the front door- one marked CANS, the other BOTTLES. On closer inspection, one turned out to be full of ammo and grenades, the other had some clothes and small meds, as well as (Kara smirked characteristically) eleven bottles of cough syrup and fifteen packets of throat soothers.  
  
Dylan strode through the front door about fifteen minutes later carrying some boxes of pizza. "Score!" said Kara from the couch, grabbing one.  
  
"Knew you'd appreciate it."  
  
"Better be careful with your lip thing, though. Do you really want pepperoni hanging off there for the rest of your days? Maybe I'd better eat everything. Just to be safe."  
  
"I'll live dangerously," he said, and opened the other box.  
  
Their pizza frenzy had slowed considerably before Kara swallowed some crust (her favourite part of the pizza) and said suddenly, "Tell me about your breeding partner, Dylan."  
  
She thought this would make him uncomfortable. However, he simply looked at her and said easily, "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Anything."  
  
"She was... sweet, I guess. Kind of jumpy. Kind of REALLY jumpy. She was one of the Wyoming group. I never noticed her much before, don't think anyone did."  
  
Kara nodded.  
  
Dylan was frowning as he talked, but not in anger or irritation. "I woke up one night- I'm weird, I've always got to sleep after sex."  
  
Kara pretended to gag. "I absolutely didn't need to know that."  
  
"Do you want to hear this or not?"  
  
"Yeah, sure, but no more horny details. I AM a woman, you know."  
  
"I'm not into horny details that much myself, really."  
  
"I'm so sure."   
  
Dylan's face relaxed as he talked, a slice of cooling pizza in his hand. "She was just staring at me. She looked really small-"  
  
"What d'you mean?"  
  
"Well, that was the best thing about her. She was exactly on eye level with me. I don't think I've ever seen an X5 female that short."  
  
She sniggered. "Manticore probably wanted X10s who could fit into small spaces."  
  
Dylan gave her a very superior look. "Shut. Up. About. My. Height."  
  
"All right, all right."  
  
"She looked really small and... I don't know. Like an overgrown kid. Like me. She was... kind of beautiful."  
  
"Did you like her THAT way?" asked Kara.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"That's a lot of things you don't know about Mystery Woman, Dylan."  
  
He nodded. "Not that much of a mystery, Kara. I asked her if she was OK, and she said..."  
  
"She said...?" prompted Kara.  
  
"She was fine. She told me to call her Cloe. Of course I didn't see her again after then but- hey, maybe she's in Terminal City. It'd be great to see her again."  
  
"What did she look like?"  
  
"Dark brown hair. Livid green eyes. Sort of this round, thoughtful little face. She bit her fingernails something awful, but she wasn't that time she told me to call her Cloe."  
  
Kara made a small noise of approval. "Cool."  
  
Yet another coughing fit. Kara laughed and swiped his pizza.  
  
"What about you? Where's, uh, your guy?"  
  
"Um... well, what can I say? Tough, quiet, kinda scary. Dark skin and hair. Bad temper."  
  
"How'd he like you, Kara?"   
  
"I'm good at being sarcastic with guys. They don't want the quiet, prissy little things."  
  
"Well, I'd hardly call Cloe prissy. Attractively weird, or weirdly attractive, but not prissy. Guess you're right."  
  
Kara studied her friend as he yawned widely. "Well, I'd better sleep. I've gotta be gone pretty early tomorrow."  
  
"You're tired?" she asked, and slid off the couch and onto the floor with a thump.  
  
He opened one eye. "Odd thing, that. Sex and pizza... only two things that can send me right to sleep."  
  
"Remind me to tell that to all the hit men in this town," she smiled. "Hey, before you slip into a coma, where can I find a pen?"  
  
"I think... in the kitchen."  
  
She stood up laboriously. "Thank you, Dylan."  
  
Kara picked up her backpack from the couch, giving Dylan room to stretch all the way out. She shut off the light and moved off into the kitchen, which was dark. An ashtray on the sink, completely devoid of ashes, instead held about seven biro pens. She selected one.  
  
Sitting down at the little kitchen table, she pulled her notebook out of her bag. She felt like getting something out of her system.  
  
Tapping the pen on a fresh page, she listened to Dylan coughing occasionally and heard his breathing slow. God, he really was sleeping, the wuss.  
  
She considered his proposal to go to Seattle. He was nuts. She loved him as a friend and brother, but he was absolutely insane to even suggest it. OK, so Seattle didn't sound too bad. But with a kid? Someone was bound to find a loophole in the defences of this Terminal City and when they did... it'd surely be better for her son to be killed at the hands of his damned social worker than to have to go like that, in the midst of a smoking battlefield.  
  
Kara used to have nightmares when she was little, that SHE was the one on a smoking battlefield and she was running around in the dark, all alone, falling over the bodies of the others.  
  
She'd hated that particular nightmare.  
  
A message, then. To the kid. About where his mother was. That seemed an OK way to kill some time before she and Dylan had to part ways.  
  
Ten minutes later, she sceptically read aloud what she had so far. "I guess the first thing to do is tell you who I am. This is your long-absent birth mother, and at the moment my name is Kara Stefani. You might have guessed by now there's something special about you and this is it: your parents were transgenics. If by the time you read this the government has swept our existence under the rug, I'll explain. Transgenics are genetically engineered humans born in a covert genetics lab to surrogate mothers and raised as soldiers inside the walls of Manticore. Let me tell you about Manticore..."  
  
And she did not speak again for some time, haphazardly scribbling down everything bottled up inside her since the day she was born. She told him how one of her brothers accidentally shot himself through the head, and how a sister fell into the lake on a training exercise and they'd found her body three hours later, crushed and broken and impaled on a submerged rock. How they'd managed to pull her up and off, but at the sight of the bleeding hole in her chest and her face, which looked mildly surprised more than anything else, one of her brothers had promptly had a panic attack. She told her son about Matt and Dylan, and her sisters 799 and 657. She related her whole existence, right down the birthmark on her finger. Hours passed and the sun had still not risen as she read the final part, feeling oddly emotional.  
  
"... I don't really know how to end this, kiddo. I can't say I love you, because I don't know you. And I can't say I'm proud of you because you could be an axe murderer or a drug dealer for all I know. I can't tell you I didn't want to give you up, because these were the circumstances and dammit, it's an unfair world. I guess all I can say is that I'm sorry for anything less than wonderful that my actions and my past might have brought on you, and that were the circumstances different... kid, I would have loved you until the end of time."  
  
That last part surprised Kara. Would she really love her baby if the circumstances were different?  
  
The baby seemed to respond to this thought by kicking. Kara gritted her teeth. "OK, OK..." she muttered.  
  
She ripped out the notebook pages and folding them in half, she put them into her pocket. Then she frowned, puzzled. Something was going on out in the street.  
  
Ambling to the kitchen window over the sink, she looked out and spotted a small crowd of people down on the street, seemingly talking to each other. One or two carried torches of the burning variety, making Kara sneer. Who did they think they were, extras in a Thirties horror flick?  
  
One looked up abruptly and to Kara's shock, pulled out a handgun and shot at the window.  
  
She yelled in shock, pulling away from the window a split second before it shattered. Her scream seemed to wake Dylan, she heard him say sleepily, "Kara?"  
  
Kara grabbed her backpack and skidded into the front room. "Dylan, wake up! Someone just shot out your kitchen window!"  
  
Dylan swore and rolled off the couch. He resurfaced a second later as Kara stood helplessly in the doorway. She could hear the people out in the street. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice stretched.  
  
She exploded. "Yes, I'm fucking sure! Come on, we've got to LEAVE!"  
  
Kara made for the door, but Dylan jumped up and grabbed her arm, pulling her back.  
  
"What are you DOING?" he hissed.  
  
"I believe the idea is to keep moving in enemy territory, Dylan!" she snarled, wrenching her shoulder from his grasp.  
  
"I-" Dylan began hotly, and then he froze.  
  
Kara felt afraid and angry. "What?" she asked. "What is it?"  
  
"Get in the bathroom," he said to her quickly. "Now. Leave the door open, there's nothing more suspicious than a closed door." He started to push her along toward his bathroom.  
  
"What? I- no!" she barked.  
  
"Now!" he snapped, shoving her inside.  
  
Barely twenty seconds later the door was broken down. She heard Dylan leave, running for his life, and people running after him. Standing behind the bathroom door, she shivered. Suddenly Helena wasn't the lucky city she'd first thought.  
  
She ventured out. The other residents still slept despite the noise, and she made her way hurriedly down the fire escape.  
  
She came out in the alley and heard sounds of a struggle. Very slowly, she peered around the corner.  
  
There he was. They'd forced Dylan onto his knees, holding his arms behind his back. He didn't scream, didn't waste his energy on fear, just tried to throw his attackers off.  
  
But to no avail. And despite the hopelessness of the situation, Kara's face held no emotion as she watched him struggle.  
  
She did not twitch as one of the protestors drew a knife.  
  
She did not move as the crowd moved, blocking her brother, her Dylan from view.  
  
She had no words, no reaction for what she felt as she silently watched the knife being set to his throat and dragged across, sending him sprawling to the cement.  
  
Kara did, however, move forward slightly, and a pained look flitted across her face before she bit her lip. Hesitantly, she stopped biting her lip and stared once more, at the crumpled form on the ground, pooling with blood. His eyes and mouth were slightly open, and that stupid lip piercing flashed at her as if taunting her.  
  
He was dead. Kara turned silently and walked away.  
  
She walked a long time. As she walked, her expressionless features slowly changed. Her grief began to reflect on her face. Kara's eyes were heavy and shadowed, her mouth hopeless, her skin pale from revulsion. Although her body had only existed in the world a scant twenty-one years, more than anything she felt pained and tired.  
  
Kara couldn't believe he was gone. She remembered the cloudy blue eyes sliding sideways to meet hers as...  
  
...  
  
BANG. A soldier descended on one of their own, her gun had gone off and now there was a smoking hole in the ceiling of the weapons store.  
  
X5-767 giggled spitefully and tossed her gun from one hand to the other.  
  
"No talking!" barked the soldier in her direction. Had 767 the bravery, she might have pulled a face. She wasn't damn talking! She was laughing! There was a difference!  
  
He was so preoccupied with telling off the hapless female he did not notice one of the boys. Everyone heard him cock his gun and there was a pause as their weapons instructor took a breath. They idly stared at the male X5, who was gazing right into the barrel of his pistol.  
  
The weapons instructor yelled something, startling the boy. 600 barely started forward. The boy was dead before he had time to yell, "No, don't do that!"  
  
Kara fought not to cry. She couldn't cry. She hadn't cried in about eighteen years and she certainly wasn't going to cry now.  
  
Dylan had been with her the other day too, hadn't he? And in a weird show of affection he'd actually grabbed her shoulder as they stood, small and resolute on the slippery overhanging rocks as...  
  
...  
  
A scream. 767 batted 418's hand away and the little group of about fourteen looked around uneasily.  
  
"What the hell was that?" barked 494, the leader of their group. He turned around. "Who fell? Who was that?"  
  
One of them was missing. They fanned out, picking their way down the slope of the waterfall. They spread out along the shores of the lake, and spent nearly three hours there until-  
  
Another scream. She crashed over and found them gathered. 494 was about waist deep in water and she frowned, staring at him.  
  
Even X5-767 shrieked when he stood straight. In his arms was the limp form of the sister who'd gone missing, and when he drew closer she saw the blood.  
  
It wasn't fair. It wouldn't ever be fair for her, everyone Kara was close to had to leave her.  
  
And it wasn't right. If that girl (for Kara now didn't hesitate to think of herself and her female unit members as girls or women) hadn't had her life controlled and contained by Manticore, she wouldn't have had to live that whole horrible, short little life with those last few seconds where her feet slipped out from underneath her... and the ground disappeared... and she was plummeting toward the lake... hitting the water... and suddenly her life was pushed right out of her body by the sharp stone shooting through her.  
  
DON'T CRY, her instincts told her. Now it didn't seem like an instinct, but like a threat.  
  
No. Like a dare. Like a child's malicious teasing and provoking. DON'T CRY. DON'T CRY. DON'T CRY.  
  
A shape loomed out of the darkness and she looked at it boredly. "You X5?" it said in a screech. It was a female apelike anomaly wearing a long coat with a hood.  
  
"Uh-huh," Kara said dully.  
  
"Where's Murphy? He was s'posed to be here ten minutes ago."  
  
Kara gulped. "He's- he's dead."  
  
The monkey woman blanched. "Bad form," she chattered. "I liked that guy. Guess we'd better head off soon as the X6s are here. Wouldn't be carrying no X-series if 418 weren't so generous with food rations. He was a good guy."  
  
She turned on her hairy heel and strode over to a battered minivan parked at the curb. A few people-ish forms could be seen inside, but Kara couldn't be bothered to dilate her pupils and focus on them.  
  
Slowly, she pulled the letter out of her pocket and looked at it. Kara called to mind the gunshot and communal gasp, the girl drowned and impaled, Splint trapped in the burning building, Matt weak from those damn drugs Manticore gave him and... Dylan, his throat slit.  
  
She found she was shaking with rage. And still the images stabbed at her mind- the bleeding wound in the girl's chest, the little boy accidentally shooting himself, Splint, her brothers-  
  
I'll be damned, thought Kara, wracked with anger and grief, if I let Manticore ruin someone else's life.  
  
She savagely ripped the letter. Once, then twice, then again and again until it was almost confetti in her quaking hands. She walked over to the monkey anomaly as purposefully as she could. The anomaly was in fact helping two scared-looking X6s (one with her arm in a sling, the other with her head bleeding and bandaged like some sick parody of the Civil War) into the minivan as Kara thumped her on the shoulder.  
  
"Is there room?" she asked harshly.  
  
"Yeah, but my brother'll be pissed. He wanted to put his feet up."  
  
Kara climbed in and sat down as one of the anomalies inside hauled the door closed, his eyes luminous as dawn broke over the lucky city.  
  
She slid open the window, opened her hand and watched her memories and apologies as they were scattered by the morning wind.  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. All the songs on the soundtrack belong to their respective owners. Not me. So don't sue.  
  
NOTES: Hee, hee. Sorry about Kara's surname in this chapter. Would you believe I have about twenty surnames in total hanging around in reserve and I chose Stefani for this chapter? I think I was listening to No Doubt or something.  
  
You might be wondering as to why I haven't updated in so long. Oh, believe me, I've wanted to. Let me tell all of you with the utmost sincerity- if the bottom floor of your half-converted-from-a-camping-gear-factory-into-a-family-home house has flooded due to unseasonable rain and your dad's penchant for cutting gigantic holes into the tin roof to serve as windows (but not putting any glass in them), do not I repeat DO NOT assume you can negotiate the biggest, deepest, dirtiest puddle (which happens to be in the centre of the concrete floor of said dad's workshop) wearing too-small, dog-ugly platform shoes and carrying two bottles of milk, just because you were able to do it four days ago wearing study uniform shoes and carrying a piece of paper. You won't be able to do it. Trust me. There's a ridiculously big chance you'll be abruptly flipped over onto your back, put in incredible pain and be condemned to bed for some time.  
  
...  
  
Really, it was my finest performance since the time two years ago when I fractured my ankle falling off a basketball. I mean, I'm not usually a klutz or anything, but every few years I manage to injure myself in the most fantastically weird ways you've ever heard of.  
  
Oh, yeah, and for anyone who doesn't speak Italian (like yours truly- all the ludicrously long and involved strings of Italian in the last chapter were courtesy of an online translator), the words 'Tale Era La Sua Vita' mean approximately 'Such Was Her Life'.  
  
Guess what? I quoted Jessica Alba (not on DA) somewhere in here. And I'm not telling you where. Ha.  
  
Dylan, in case I didn't already say, was Jack's clone, hence the whole thing with the explosive coughing fits. 'Cause, erm, he's got the same genetic makeup as Jack and therefore is deficient in some ways. Like he catches Ordinary diseases, geddit?  
  
Sorry about Dylan's death scene- I am seriously no good at writing suspense. I'm just so desperate to get this chapter out that I rattled it off all in one bit. I might go back and edit it a bit, so if there's any aspect of the killing scene you want elaborated or done away with or whatever, give me some suggestions in a review or e-mail. But only if it's sensible. I won't take especially kindly to being told, "Do away with the whole damn, damn FIC!"  
  
Happy Easter to all who celebrate it! Laters, all!  
  
SONGS FOR CHAPTER FIVE:  
  
Walking To Dylan's Place- 'Mobile' by Avril Lavigne  
  
Writing the Letter- 'Bring Me To Life' by Evanescence  
  
Dylan's Death Scene- 'Soldier' by Eminem  
  
The Grief Flashbacks- 'Things I've Seen' by Spooks  
  
Ripping Up the Letter and Leaving Town- 'Bring Me To Life' by Evanescence (Reprise) 


	6. Chapter Six: Rest At The Voyage’s End

The noises of the engine whirred in Kara's ears as the traffic blurred past them. She had neither eaten nor drank in days. She'd barely slept. She supposed this couldn't be good for her baby. But all she wanted was to get to Seattle. To Terminal City.  
  
To where Dylan wanted to be.  
  
It was insane to think of trying to get through a sector checkpoint. Barda, the monkey anomaly driving, spoke over her shoulder. "We should be there any minute."  
  
"Well, hurry up," answered her brother, a darker anomaly named Dexter.  
  
Barda had cleared a place for the group to part ways and head into the city. Once they got there, Kara would be on her own.  
  
One X6 slept almost continually, the other, for some odd reason, frequently dangled her head out of the window. She seemed to get a real kick out of that, and every now and again she'd yell into the traffic.  
  
The X6 girls were by far the most cheerful people there. As well as Barda and Dexter there was a Jungle Ops. Her breath reeked of raw meat, and she'd only spoken to Kara or indeed, anyone in the first moments of the trip. "What's your name?" Kara had asked guardedly.  
  
"Lio."  
  
"And why're ya going to Seattle?"  
  
"Why is anyone?" asked Lio cryptically, speaking awkwardly around her protruding teeth but with a morbidity to her voice. When Kara had raised her eyebrows Lio said without a trace of embarrassment. "My family are there."  
  
After Lio came a reptilian man, Ozzy and what looked like a botched X8 with a deep, gravelly voice named Butcher.  
  
Nobody had had anything much to say to each other and Kara wanted nothing more than to climb out of the car. But that was out of the question. They only stopped occasionally, to fill up.  
  
So. Ozzy, Dexter, Lio, Butcher, Kara, Barda and the X6s. What a group.  
  
"Are we nearly there yet?" asked the X6 with her arm in a sling, the one who liked dangling her head through the window. Kara hadn't caught her name.  
  
"Yeah, nearly."  
  
"Good, because my skull is moments away from implosion," wisecracked the one with the bandaged head. Kara started because she'd thought that one was asleep. Her friend snickered softly and leaned against her.  
  
"Suck it up, for God's sakes. I'm eight years old and I'm still awake," sneered Butcher, propping his round face in his hands.  
  
"Barely," Ozzy observed. Butcher glared at him.  
  
They pulled up on a grassy knoll outside the city and Kara felt the engine halt. She hauled open her window and stuck out her head. "Are we here?" she croaked. "Is this it?"  
  
"Yup," said Barda triumphantly.  
  
A few moments were spent in unloading various boxes of medical supplies, clothes and food. Lio spoke.  
  
"My family are here."  
  
"Who are they?" puffed Kara, sweeping her hair onto her other shoulder.  
  
"Three of my kind, the Jungle Ops. We had codenames. Derrick, Ciara and Moses are theirs."  
  
They did not talk any more, but concentrated on emptying the minivan. Kara paused momentarily to stare at the lights of Seattle below them. She tried to figure out where Terminal City must be.  
  
Would the others be there? She knew she would not be able to count on Dylan or Matt any more. Perhaps they would. 600 and 657 would be together, surely. They were never apart.  
  
Even after all this time, she couldn't imagine the Outside without her group in it.  
  
Provisions were shared among the travellers, each person taking what they could carry. Kara shook hands with each of them, even Ozzy, Dexter, Butcher and Barda- whom she felt insantly wary of because of their being anomalies. The anomalies were the stuff of her nightmares.  
  
For some reason, waiting behind as the others moved off, Kara thought about her heat cycles. She knew she'd missed at least one, being pregnant, and felt infinitely glad- but dear God, what would happen out in the Outside, when she... she...  
  
657 had got her first heat cycle at twelve. She was the oldest of all the girls. It was natural for her to be the first. The geneticists and doctors been anticipating something of the sort- what with her feline DNA- but had no idea it would be so strong in her. All Kara really remembered of her big sister's first heat cycle was X5-657 complaining of being too hot for a day, tugging at the neckline of her t-shirt. The boys had had odd looks on their faces and kept sneaking glances at her, and she, for a yet unexplained reason, had kept finding ways to touch them or brush against them.   
  
Her skin had glowed with sweat and 453 had cattily remarked that 657 smelled weird, which was cause for great mirth among all the X5 females except for herself (because she loved 657 too much to laugh at her when she felt 'ill') and 799 (who wouldn't have dreamed of making her angry).  
  
They'd still slept in dormitories then- their cells were still being built for them. 657, who tossed and turned like she'd drunk eleven cups of coffee, had finally sat bolt upright and said loudly, into the silence, that she felt terrible and had to go to the infirmary NOW, right NOW and she didn't care what happened to her because it was imperative that she went NOW.  
  
For two days she disappeared and finally appeared in the hall for martial arts drills looking guilty and ashamed. 600 had immediately paired off with her to spar and they'd been talking out of the sides of their mouths the whole time. 657 seemed angry and threw 600 on his back.  
  
She had NEVER intentionally hurt him before. 600 insisted on bringing out the best in his unit. When you sparred with him, you had to be on your toes. But with 657, they just went through the motions.  
  
He responded by kicking her in the stomach. She'd launched herself at him, beating him around the head until with some of the others' help (namely Matt, 702 and 206) he managed to pin her to the ground. Some officers frog-marched her straight out of the room again.  
  
That night they had a training mission which 657 did not attend, so it was not until the night after that that a group of X5 females were able to pluck up the courage to accost X5-657 in the females' bathrooms and ask her about her recent 'illness'.  
  
"Apparently it's my cat DNA," she'd said shortly, drying her hair roughly (she was being allowed to grow it- she'd be out in the field in a matter of years). "Female cats go through stages of searching for a mate for the purposes of procreation."  
  
"Procreation?" asked 211, who like Kara had only been eleven, and naive.  
  
"Producing babies," explained X5-348 shortly.  
  
"Yes, that's the primary intention for females of the suitable age. Apart from being soldiers." This was 735, who was youngest out of the ones born in 1999. Kara, the oldest of the 2000 block, was right below her in age.  
  
"Oh," said the naive eleven-year-olds as a group, although they didn't really understand.  
  
"The strange smell was pheromones," continued 657 (this merited yet another, "Oh." from all the ones who didn't really understand but didn't want to be left out either). "Ordinaries can sense them too, 'cept they don't know what they are. Basically they tell others that I'm... um..."  
  
Silence.  
  
"... ready to mate," she muttered, very quietly. Kara had never seen her sister so sheepish.  
  
799 shrieked with laughter. "Don't be stupid! You're far too young for that!"  
  
"I know," said X5-657 quietly. She looked up with her purposeful glare. "And don't think it's just me. Sooner or later, you'll all go through the same thing. All of you."  
  
Thinking about it, Kara supposed she remembered her X5 sister's own first heat better than her own. It was the sense of dread... 657 had never specified where she'd been put or what would happen to her exactly during her heat, and it had worried Kara intensely.  
  
The others had ditched their minivan. Kara sat in its shadow, psyching herself to move off and discover the way to the City.  
  
Headlights sliced the grassy knoll and she jumped, gazing after them in fear. Shaking her head, she managed to haul herself to her feet and start walking.  
  
KEEP MOVING IN ENEMY TERRITORY. KEEP MOVING IN ENEMY TERRITORY.  
  
The sun slid up in the sky, and cars began to snail and then race down the streets, which became crowded with people.  
  
Kara walked and rested, walked and rested. She could not afford to draw attention to herself... not when she was so close.  
  
She didn't know what to think of. Kara had to keep her head in the game or die.  
  
Seattle felt dangerous. The air was heavy with rain. Like in her dreams about the smoking battlefield... it was usually raining in the dreams, and yet she saw fire in the distance.  
  
...  
  
There it was. Terminal City, and Kara felt so angry and happy she wanted to hit something.  
  
Protestors were everywhere. They choked the pavement- some people had even set up stalls. Their chanting rang in the air, but Kara could barely hear them.  
  
It seemed, though, that everything would finally be all right.  
  
She'd thought too soon. Her eyesight blurred and panic gripped her throat as she realised a seizure was coming on.  
  
Kara had gone without her meds- ones doled out to X5s as though feeding ducks, ones which controlled their seizures- since the burning of Manticore, and had spent mornings just shaking and unable to see... blind to anything but the noise of her teeth rattling in her head. Her seizures were not as bad as what some of the others- Dylan, for example- had gone through, but they came faster now, without her meds.  
  
Feeling the air stirred by people turning to look at her, Kara took a determined step forward only to be halted.  
  
"A freak!" The gasp rang through the crowd. Someone had broken through and, grabbing her hair roughly, tried to reveal her barcode more obviously.  
  
Kara pushed their hand away. She didn't know who it was and she didn't care. Three words were clear in her mind and she hissed them into the air. It smelled like rain, which she liked, and she imagined her words releasing some kind of toxic fume into the air.  
  
"I'm no freak," she spat, stepping away slowly.  
  
The yells continued. Nobody seemed to want to go near her, or touch her- even her assailant had backed down.  
  
Kara looked around like an animal cornered. Quaking, she stared at the pressing faces and then into the grey sky.  
  
You tried, Kara, said her sarcastic voice cruelly. And hey, ain't that always the most important thing?  
  
She braced herself and shut her eyes.  
  
Yells. They were a different kind, though, and she stared around in confusion. Someone wearing a hooded sweatshirt was fighting their way through the crowd. Instinctively she dilated her pupils to focus on them.  
  
It was a woman, a young one most likely and she beat people to the sides with trained hands.  
  
"Come on!" barked her rescuer and steered her toward the fence, which loomed up ahead of her most frighteningly.  
  
Kara felt faint. Her legs bowed and shook and, with one final fleeting glance of the Outside, she felt the crash of a door opened and quickly closed.  
  
"Hey, there ya go, honey," said the woman tenderly, lowering Kara gently to the ground. "Take deep breaths. You're safe now."  
  
Safe? What was that? Kara's shakes would not subside.  
  
"No, 767, you've got to BREATHE. You've got no air getting to your brain and shit if you breathe like that- and how long is it since you took any treatments for seizures?"  
  
"I 'unno," blurted Kara, choking on the words.  
  
"Don't talk, BREATHE. Shit- HEY!" she yelled suddenly. "Here's another. Crap, this is what, the second today? I think a new company of us arrived in the night. Look after her while I run and find Our Lady of the Sacred Smartass," the woman with the hood yelled over a short distance. Kara knelt in the gravel, feeling herself shake.  
  
"You know, Sophie," said a male voice, "I really don't like it when you call my sister that."  
  
The woman's voice was amused. "I call 'em like I see 'em. Go on, she looks like she'll die or somethin'."  
  
"You're not serious?"  
  
"Am I ever? You've known me a week and a half, you oughta know THAT." The rescuer hurried off, muttering. "Good thing I was there..."  
  
She heard someone hurrying over to her. "Are you OK?"  
  
"Do I look OK?" she snapped, shaking her head to try and get rid of the spinning. That was- that was better. Yeah. Nearly there.  
  
All she saw was the feet of the obvious moron who was coming to her rescue before she was pulled to her feet and held up. Swaying, she looked up and gaped.   
  
Splint.  
  
He was there. Her fingers dug rather painfully into his arm, and he flinched, but stared at her as if he couldn't believe she was real.  
  
He was alive, and standing, and breathing there with her. He was wearing civilian clothes, blue jeans and a dark grey sweatshirt. His hair- which she remembered vaguely from their brief meeting during the fire at Manticore- was thicker now, and messier. He didn't look any the worse for having been out in the world all this time, although the area under his eyes had become shadowed.  
  
He'd- he'd been out in the world. Alive, all this time.  
  
It was so unreal.  
  
He seemed equally shocked to see her. "767?" he spluttered.  
  
She nodded mutely.   
  
"Whoa, you look so... so..."  
  
"Pregnant?" she quipped, giving him a sarcastic smile and gesturing to her swollen stomach. "But still a knockout, huh?" He seemed to be having a great deal of trouble forming coherent words.  
  
"Yeah," he managed finally. "Absolutely."  
  
Kara blushed and wondered why. She began to breathe in and out slowly to try and rid herself of this insight into her emotions. Yeah, that was better. Although her body felt limp as a blade of grass.  
  
"Are you OK?" she heard him ask.  
  
She smiled bravely at him. "Absolutely," she teased.  
  
He didn't seem to get the joke. "Come on," he said. "You have to get registered." He began to pull her along.   
  
She stopped short. "Registered? With who?"  
  
"X5s are keeping tabs on all the transgenics to enter the City. Give them your name and number and you'll be guaranteed help."  
  
"All- right," she said doubtfully.  
  
"How far along are you?" asked Splint, attempting conversation. He frowned.  
  
She rolled her eyes.   
  
"Eight months, same as all the others in the programme," both said in unison.   
  
"I can't-" she stuttered suddenly, her shaking returned. Kara dropped to the ground- this felt like it took hours. The sky whirled, and Kara slumped to the dirt.  
  
The first thing Kara heard was laughter through the window. Childish laughter, and voices calling to one another.  
  
"Kick it to me, kick it to me!"  
  
"Watch out!"  
  
Kara smiled. Such a nice noise. She had grown more or less accustomed to hearing children laugh. It was a very pleasing noise.  
  
Hang on.   
  
Window?  
  
She sat up abruptly, ignoring how this small action was wreaking havoc on her head and stared around. Kara lay on a low cot in a tiny room with peeling striped wallpaper. She spotted her backpack, jacket, shoes and socks lying in a tidy cluster on the floor. A sheet had been tucked around her.   
  
Kara knelt up and peered through a window right above the pillow. A gang of X8s was kicking a soccer ball up and down the street. Their heads were fuzzed with an all-over covering of spiky hair and they were laughing, jumping into the air...  
  
"Wow," she whispered.  
  
Slowly she climbed out of the cot and padded barefoot along creaky floorboards. Opening the door, she discovered a biggish, cluttered room with an ancient sofa covered in clothing and random possessions. There were two more doors on the far side of the room, both closed. She didn't go to open them.  
  
Outside what seemed to be the front door of the little apartment there was a hallway with a great many doors and a ladder leading to a giant hole in the ceiling.  
  
At the other end of the corridor was a flight of stairs. She raised her eyebrows when she saw that a great many of the stairs had been ripped out and replaced with a flimsy ramp. Scrawled onto the wall in marker pen were the words HOLD ONTO THE RAILING AND STEP LIGHTLY.   
  
Step lightly? Riiiight. Would it support her weight?  
  
Kara clung onto the railing and cautiously stepped onto the ramp, bouncing lightly. She let out a sigh.  
  
Suddenly, a loud cracking, scraping noise filled the air and the ramp crashed down the stairs- or what was left of them. She found herself sprawled on the floor.  
  
From what looked like the kitchen came two sets of boots. "767!" gasped Splint, kneeling down beside her. "You OK?"  
  
"Absolutely peachy," she grunted.  
  
"Are you sure?" came a woman's doubtful voice.   
  
"Really. I'm fine. Ow! Shit, ow!" Kara had managed to catch a splinter in her hand as she stood up. Wincing, she dusted herself off.  
  
"Baby OK?" asked Splint nervously.   
  
"Stop being an ass. My baby's tough, just like his mommy."  
  
Kara got a good look at the woman. She was about five foot seven, with long, dark hair, full lips and pretty eyes. An X5. 453's clone. It had to be the clone, she held herself differently and didn't smell the same...  
  
The X5 was carrying a notebook and a pencil in gloved hands. Waving awkwardly, she stepped forward. "I'm Max, X5-452. Max Guevara- oh my God."  
  
"What? What is it?" asked Kara nervously.   
  
Max moved closer, studying Kara's face. "She really does look like Eva. The eyes, the hair... everything."  
  
"Who's Eva?"  
  
"Yeah," said Splint over Max's shoulder. "But you do tend to resemble someone if you're their clone, Maxie."  
  
"Would someone please tell me who the hell Eva is?"  
  
Max's face clouded and she backed off. "Eva was an X5 in our group."  
  
"And I take it from the past tense that there's no longer any such girl?"  
  
"No." Max sighed. She looked very pained and sad for a moment, but made her face again cool, collected. "So. Name?"  
  
"Kara Kirk."  
  
"Age?"  
  
"Twenty-one."  
  
"OK. Full barcode?"  
  
"331065661767."  
  
"Do the authorities have any information on you? Mugshots, criminal record, past addresses?"  
  
"I had to move around a lot. People got suspicious. And I nearly got caught one time, in Des Moines. It was at the Widdows Medical Centre there. There was a commotion outside just now, I got my barcode spotted."  
  
"I'll ask a friend to hack into the records. But don't sweat it, Kara. You're home now."  
  
Kara wanted to believe that. She really did. But she couldn't.  
  
Max cleared her throat. "So where are you at, Kara? Like, what's the new address?"  
  
Kara hesitated. "Uh-"  
  
"She can crash here. I'll take the couch, she can have my bed."  
  
Both women stared at Splint. Max raised an eyebrow.   
  
He stuttered, "I-I mean, if that's all right with her."  
  
"Yeah," agreed Kara. She gave him a rare sincere smile. "Yeah, that's OK."  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. All the songs on the soundtrack belong to their respective owners. Not me. So don't sue.  
  
NOTES: I got into X2 underage on Mother's Day. I've seen it before, but that was with a friend. I had to get in all on my own this time. I was ridiculously nervous despite the fact I'm, shall we say, sufficiently blessed with the ability to look (at the most) seventeen. Isn't that cool? I probably won't think it's so cool when I'm thirty-two and look around forty, but right now, when I'm in my teens, it's swell.  
  
*GRINS SARCASTICALLY*  
  
Anyone spot James Kirk in that movie? Jesus Christ, that was the first time I'd seen him since 'Pollo Loco' and holy crap, does he look older. How old is he now?  
  
And no, I'm not trying to find out if he's legal. Really.  
  
*PAUSES*  
  
REALLY. It's just a matter of simple curiosity.  
  
Shall we move on?  
  
Sorry about the whole thing with the heat cycles and that. It's just that I LOVE flashbacks, and writing a bunch of eleven and twelve-year-olds who use words like 'procreation' and 'intention' in ordinary conversation is terribly amusing. I'm just weird like that.  
  
I'm also sorry if this chapter seems rushed. I'll fix it tomorrow, I promise. The thing is, it's two-thirty on a Friday night and I am DESPERATE to get this new chapter up, because a certain excerpt of this chapter has been floating around on my computer since last year or something.  
  
No comment on Kara's newest surname (when I made her up I was on Dark Cherubs and was having trouble with a last name, so I named her after one of my favourite flashback kids. For a real challenge, try and spot all sorts of different references to actors and actresses who played child X-series on DA that are gunna be in this fic. There were at least two in this chapter. *SMIRK*)  
  
For Brin's benefit, the Jessica Alba quote in Chapter Five is, "I'm good at being sarcastic with guys. They don't want the quiet, prissy little things."  
  
(It can be found on her IMDb profile, I think. And the quote you mentioned is very interesting indeed. I think I'm actually more popular than she was. I sit with people. On a BENCH. You can all start applauding now. *DOES TEENYBOPPER IMPERSONATION. EVERYONE IS APPALLED BECAUSE SHE SOUNDS FRIGHTENINGLY ACCURATE*)  
  
Please disregard what I just said. I'm a bit hyper right now.  
  
Apologies for Max's cameo- very few canon X5s will be making appearances, I should reckon (at this early stage). Max and Zane are probably going to appear every now and again.  
  
Kind of a filler chapter, I think. The point is, she's in Terminal City now and this is where things start to get interesting. Well, probably not all that interesting. Interesting by my standards. Which is like, taking all the fic so far and making it doubly interesting.  
  
Am I making any sense?  
  
*UNANIMOUS BELLOW OF "No!" FROM READERS*  
  
Thank you to anyone who's reading so far!  
  
SONGS FOR CHAPTER SIX:  
  
First Heat Flashbacks and Entering the City- 'Somewhere I Belong' by Linkin Park 


	7. Chapter Seven: Ghost Town

Max and Splint cajoled, bribed, wheedled and finally ordered Kara to stay in the apartment a day or so. Until noon on her first full day in the City, Splint seemed hesitant to talk to her. Kara preferred being left alone, at least for awhile. She'd come to accept solitude as something that was just... normal.  
  
But eventually she managed to trap Splint by sitting on his couch and waiting for him to leave the kitchen. He didn't seem the type to just strut right past her without so much as a nod, and wasn't. He emerged, blinked at Kara, shrugged and came to sit with her.  
  
"Holding up OK?" Splint asked, leaning back.  
  
"Not bad," said Kara truthfully.  
  
Splint seemed to be searching for something to say. "Um- so, what's it like?"  
  
"What's what like?"  
  
"Being pregnant. Or being you, take your pick."  
  
She gave him a disdainful look. "Well, Splint, would you be in a mood to suffer fools if you'd been traipsing around North America for eight months, living on the streets and becoming steadily fatter and more emotional? I'm not one to whine, but you're damned lucky to be male, Splint."  
  
He nodded and grinned. "I can understand that."  
  
"How've you spent your time since the fire?" asked Kara.  
  
"Not spectacularly. I lived in Washington awhile, tried to set a unit member of mine up with something... basically we lay low until she had to move here because the people in her apartment complex were getting suspicious. Listen-"  
  
"What?"  
  
Splint fidgeted, embarrassed. "It's a chore trying to get any food... security's tight around, you know, and they check a lot for barcodes and stuff. I used to get mine lasered away once a fortnight 'til- well, anyway. I don't have much here right now, but what I do get is... you get first pick."  
  
Kara Smirked. "Articulate, aren't you?"  
  
He managed to smile at her. "Very."  
  
"You don't have to treat me like a charity case, you know. I just needed someplace to sleep," said Kara warily. "Tomorrow- the day after, at the very latest- I'll split and you can have your place back."  
  
Splint seemed mildly concerned. "Ah, c'mon, Kara. Don't do that," he said in a pleading tone- she couldn't tell whether he was making fun of her or not. "I like your company."  
  
"You haven't had any of my company, Splint!"  
  
"Fair enough. Can I have an example of your company?"  
  
Her eyebrows went skywards. "Why?"  
  
"So I can tell you I like your company," he said, as if it were obvious.  
  
"Uh- OK."  
  
A pause. Kara wracked her brain for something to say.  
  
"Tell me something."  
  
"When I was in Helena I got a CD player and one CD. I think it's OK. I'm not crazy about music, to tell the truth. Or books, for that matter." Kara picked up a paperback from halfway under the couch. "What're you reading this for?"  
  
"Borrowed it off a friend. Beats doing sprints in the rain for fun. Now, you don't like books or music. What do you do to amuse yourself?"  
  
"Dunno. Exercise. Walk. Talk to people, then rip them to shreds- figuratively, that is- as soon as their back is turned." Her face fell. "Damn, I don't have anyone to help me mess with people's minds any more."  
  
"You could mess with my mind double time and make up the difference," Splint suggested. She tossed her hair and glared at him, and he smiled. "I think I like your company, Kara."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"No, really."  
  
She gave him a hard look, but couldn't keep the shine from her eyes. "You're an idiot. And what kinda name is Splint anyhow? Are you aware that a splint's a piece of medical equipment? Why didn't you call yourself Bandage or Gurney while you were being really simple?"  
  
"Seemed fitting considering I spent so much time in the infirmary as a child," muttered Splint. Kara was pleased. She'd obviously hit a nerve there.  
  
"Oh, were you deficient?"  
  
"Nah, just awkward."  
  
"Do continue."  
  
"I'm also allergic. To the weirdest stuff, too. I once ate a certain kind of flour and passed out after four hours. I missed out on some of the grizzlier Manticore testing because of some of my allergies, though. Chlorine's a bad one, so no being bolted to the bottom of a pool. Neurology drugs, so no induced seizures. And pain."  
  
"Pain?"  
  
"Well, that would have been nice. My limbs were- ARE a real puzzle. I mean, the rate I managed to fall on my ass, or thereabouts, and break this-or-that a limb they wanted to know how they healed good as new," said Splint matter-of-factly.  
  
"Ah, well, you look the allergic type."  
  
Splint raised his eyebrows. "How d'you figure?"  
  
Laughing, she brushed the shadows under his eyes with outstretched fingers. "Pale and interesting," she smirked.  
  
"Everyone's commented on those at least once. Would you believe I haven't slept in a week and a half?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Yeah, and my threshold is four days. I'm weak like that."  
  
Kara decided to withhold the fact that she could go three days without any sleep. A week at most, but any time after that was pushing it.  
  
"How come you've been dashing around so much? Or have you been sitting here, twiddling your thumbs and waiting for a social life?"  
  
"Ha, ha. Actually, I've been helping my unit member get settled. She's kinda weird in her ways, doesn't get on with people. Really intense, she is."  
  
"I'd like to meet her."  
  
"You might. And Kara?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm not pale."  
  
"I know you're not, but you can see those damned shadows ten klicks off. As your ward, I insist you sleep tonight."  
  
"Yes, Mom. That reminds me, I oughta go visit with her. Can you believe she suggested we don't spend enough time together?" He shook his head, standing up.  
  
"The wench. C'mon, help me up," Kara said cheerfully, raising her hands.  
  
Splint chivvied her hands away. "Hey, you're not coming! You're meant to be resting!"  
  
"So are you!"  
  
"You don't count. You're physically exhausted!"  
  
She snorted. "Oh, yeah, we all really believe THAT. Help me up, please, or we'll find out exactly how quick that neck of yours can heal, hmm?"  
  
Splint managed to laugh, gazing at her. "You're incredible."  
  
"Incredibly pissed, if I don't get to come and see this needy X5 of yours."  
  
He gave up and helped her to stand. And as Kara followed him out of the apartment she couldn't help but think something. You know, I think I like his company too.  
  
And she didn't squash that thought, which she gathered would turn out a bad decision.  
  
The streets of Terminal City were wide and cold. Rainwater pooled in potholes in the road, and trash collected at the foot of the more dilapidated buildings. In the distance Kara could see the charred skeletons of what had once been trees. Not many transgenics could be seen- some sat in doorways or hurried down alleys. The only thing missing from this proverbial ghost town was the obligatory tumbleweed.  
  
"So this is the Holy Land," she said dryly after some minutes of walking in silence, gazing around with blue febrile eyes.  
  
"Ah, the nightlife's better. Less Ordinaries around to give you grief, huh?" said Splint easily. "The X8s play a lot of sports, that's always a laugh to see."  
  
"Wow, the sporting exploits of a bunch of eight and nine-year-olds. I can't wai-" Kara began to reply sarcastically.  
  
She was interrupted, however, by a summoning whistle coupled with a delighted yell of, "767!"  
  
The voice came from behind them, and Kara knew who it was instantly. She was suddenly kicking herself for not identifying her rescuer from the mob. The fact that terror and seizures had gripped her was utterly no excuse.  
  
There came crunching footfalls as the owner of the voice strode over to them. "767, you lucky bitch! Glad to see you're out at last! How're you holding up?"  
  
Kara grinned. "Hey, 735."  
  
To Kara's surprise, X5-735 hugged her briefly. She still had the sweatshirt, but had tied it around her shoulders like a shawl. "Aw, don't call me that. I realised a few months ago- designations sound STUPID. To anyone who's asking, I'm Sophie Nichols now."  
  
Kara gazed at her older sister. "Well, damn. Really?"  
  
"If you want to know the truth I was Ann-ni Lee last week, but it's definitely Sophie Nichols now."  
  
She laughed. "Fair enough."  
  
Sophie nodded at Splint. "Hey, Splint."  
  
"Sophie," he said with a wave.  
  
"So what're you doing out?" asked Sophie, addressing them both.  
  
"Gotta check up on You-Know-Who," said Splint.  
  
"Ah, our very own angst-ridden, suicidal little recluse," nodded Sophie, putting a hand on her hip. "And how is the Drama Queen?"  
  
"Cut her a little slack, she's had a hard life," said Splint, his voice a little hard and annoyed.  
  
"We all have, it's no excuse. And the recluse isn't in her room. I'm afraid she and Amna are in the car park nearby the gates. I think they ENJOY getting obscenities screamed at them. I mean, the masochistic recluse I can understand, but Amna?"  
  
"C'mon, let's go, Kara. Coming, Sophie?" asked Splint.  
  
"Sure, whatever. Hey- Kara? Is that your name?"  
  
Kara beamed. "Yeah. Kara Kirk."  
  
"Whoa, and she's even got that whole alliterative thing goin' on," laughed Sophie.  
  
Like much of the City during daylight hours, the car park was nearly deserted due to the nearby fence with faraway, fanatical chanting drifting over it. A couple of anomalies were crowded around a trashcan fire and over by a cement column were the forms of two female X5s.  
  
Between them, Splint and Sophie coaxed her over to meet them. They were obviously Wyoming X5s if Splint knew them well, and Kara had always been slightly scathing of the Wyoming group. She didn't know how they would react to her.  
  
Sophie did not seem to pick up on this concern. "Kara Kirk, meet Amna Guevara and Cloe Malone," grinned Sophie.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hello."  
  
They were both X5s. One was the spitting image of her X5 sister X5-348, who'd gone AWOL after the fire. She was dark and very tall, with straight brown hair that looked black in certain kinds of light. Her arms were folded assertively across her front.  
  
Amna looked an OK sort. Likeable.  
  
The other was 620's clone. She was very short for an X5, with lengthening brown hair and wide green eyes.  
  
Cloe.  
  
She'd been with Dylan. She'd asked him to call her Cloe. What the hell for? Kara regarded Cloe coolly and decided to reserve judgement.  
  
Splint clapped Cloe on her diminutive shoulder. "Cloe, you- um-"  
  
"Splint, I don't really need you to baby me. No more repeats of 2009, OK? I don't get to go 'til I'm good and worn out," said Cloe, frowning up at him.  
  
Sophie shrugged at Kara as Kara gave her a quizzical look.  
  
Splint blushed, avoiding both Cloe and Kara's eyes. "I'm not! I came to return your book." He pulled one out of the back pocket of his jeans, handing it to her.  
  
She studied it. "That's not my book," she reported.  
  
Splint blinked and squinted at it. "Uh, wrong one?" he muttered.  
  
Amna snickered. "Way to fuck up thinly veiled attempt at checking up on our baby sister, Splint."  
  
"I'm the same age as you both," retorted Cloe.  
  
"Yeah, you'd never guess it, though. You look like a midget fifteen-year-old without a figure," sneered Sophie.  
  
Cloe looked affronted. Splint coughed, obviously not accustomed to thinking of his sisters as being developed at all.  
  
"You heard what the scientists said. I happen to be a little under the average height for a normal woman."  
  
"- In other words, she's short," hissed Sophie. Kara giggled.  
  
"... Puts victims at rest because I don't look dangerous. It's not MY fault the rest of you are Jesus-Christ giants," muttered Cloe, scuffing a shoe.  
  
"Enough with the Biblical references, Malone," ordered Amna.  
  
"You guys are always picking on me," hissed Cloe.  
  
"Hey, that's enough," frowned Splint. "Break it up."  
  
"Yeah, sheath those claws, ladies," smirked Kara. "Rowr."  
  
Amna and Sophie smiled in approval. Splint laughed, and even Cloe managed to twitch her lips slightly.  
  
"Seen any others of our group, Kara?" asked Sophie, changing the subject.  
  
"I, um, ran into X5-418 in Montana," said Kara unenthusiastically.  
  
Cloe immediately perked up. "Really? How is he?"  
  
"He helped me get here. His name's, uh, Dylan Murphy now. We- when- when I first met up with him, he was quite good save for his cough."  
  
"Cool," said Amna dismissively.  
  
"Yeah, cool," said Cloe, a dull green shine in her eyes.  
  
"Wait- a cough? An Ordinary cough?" asked Amna. "Was he deficient or something? And Cloe, wasn't your breeding partner X5-4-something-8? Bet you guys made a good couple."  
  
Cloe did not reply.  
  
Kara had a lump in her throat that would not dissolve. She had to tell someone. Now. Or she would explode, and it was not pretty when Kara Kirk exploded.  
  
"I- uh- guys?"  
  
"Yeah?" said Splint, Sophie, Amna and Cloe in unison.  
  
"418 got his throat slit last time I saw him."  
  
Kara could almost see the cogs working in Amna and Splint's heads, figuring out that the clone of one of their group- a long-dead boy, Splint would later tell her, they had called Jack- was gone. Sophie looked shocked and angry.  
  
The biggest reaction came from Cloe. Her face fell. She bit so hard at her lip that her teeth started to draw blood, twisting her fingers through each other so that they made cracking noises.  
  
"Are- are you sure?" she asked softly.  
  
"I saw it happen," said Kara, giving Cloe a curious look. For Heaven's sakes, all she'd done was sleep with the guy. Kara had known him since babyhood.  
  
For someone who knew him so slightly as Cloe, she certainly seemed upset. She started to cry. Everyone looked at her, appalled, because they were unused to people crying and did not know how to get it to stop.  
  
Amna patted Cloe awkwardly on the back as she hid her face in her hands. Splint's hand wavered over his X5 sister a moment, he seemed to decide against mimicking Amna and pulled his hand away.  
  
"What the hell's she crying for?" Kara asked shrilly, taking a step backward.  
  
"Don't heed Cloe," said Amna easily. "She gets pretty shaken up about some things. But it's never serious. She always bounces back."  
  
Cloe's head snapped up. "Bullshit!" she hissed, tears still spurting from her eyes. Splint and Amna gaped at her.  
  
"Cloe!" cried Splint, astonished.   
  
She glared. "You don't have a clue how I feel," she declared fervently. Cloe then turned on her heel and walked away as fast as she could, with surprising composure for a woman crying so hard.  
  
Sophie and Kara exchanged a glance. Splint was talking to himself. "... Cloe doesn't SWEAR. Cloe's never said anything worse than 'Jesus' or 'damn' in her life."  
  
"Yeah, she picked THAT one up off me," commented Amna absently.  
  
She turned to the Washington X5s. "I'm sorry about your brother. I'm sure he died well," she said seriously.  
  
Kara resisted the urge to say that she didn't have a brother and said thickly, "He did."  
  
"You really oughta be grieving, Kara," said Sophie, whose eyes were oddly bright. "He was your best friend."  
  
Kara tossed her hair with a slightly wavery Smirk. "Sophie, we're Manticore."  
  
Sophie gave a defeated sigh. "Yeah. We don't grieve."  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. All the songs on the soundtrack belong to their respective owners. Not me. So don't sue.  
  
NOTE: I'm sorry this chapter took so long. At every moment I wanted to write something would come up. The latest distraction was my little sister jumping up and down and telling me I look like various animals, and winging things at me. Grr. And now is a perfect time to write, because my older sister has a new boyfriend (who I've named the Loo Brush because of his hair and personality) and is out with him constantly. The two of us are the only people in the family who know how to use a computer, so I should have been good to go.  
  
Sophie is, of course, Brin's Washington clone. It was nice to introduce Cloe and Amna. They both have their own standalone fics on my profile- 'Alive' and 'Blood and Tears' respectively. (Hint... review... hint, hint...) You might want to check out 'Alive', anyway, to find out what happened in '09 that Cloe's promised not to repeat. Although it's probably completely obvious. *SHAKES HEAD AT OWN STUPIDITY*  
  
It's a double long weekend right now, and I have three bits of homework I should be doing, but I can't be stuffed, really. And they're not bad now that I think about it- in one I have to write about the hero and villain of a film (I've chosen 'Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within'). Then for another I have to investigate three television shows and their attitudes to adult relationships (my first choice was 'Dark Angel', naturallemant). Then for the third I have to be the judge at Ned Kelly's trial and decide whether he was guilty or innocent of shooting an officer in the police force at a place called- get this- Stringybark Creek. It is IMPOSSIBLE for me to be serious about something if it happened at a place called Stringybark Creek.  
  
My condolences to all the Heath Ledger fans out there, but I've decided to string the bastard up. *MANIACAL GRIN* It'll make for an interesting end to my essay, and it's more authentic anyhow.  
  
I'm utterly, wholly crappy at writing American slang. I try and try, but they just sound like me, for God's sakes. Let me ask any Americans or people who know Americans out there- is there an American expression for 'taking the piss out of something'? Kara takes the piss out of things a lot, except I don't know how to have her say it. In case you don't say that where you're from, basically it means making fun of things. So if I were to find the way one of the teachers sings comical and imitated it to my friends later, I'd be taking the piss out of them.  
  
Sorry if I sound like I think all Americans are stupid or something. We actually use a lot of your slang where I'm from. But just a tip for anyone writing Australians- I have never heard a teenager in my country refer to anybody as 'mate'. I call my friends as a whole my 'mates' (sometimes), but to use it on one single person in a joking manner is what old bearded dudes at barbecues (or barbies, as they call them o_0. I had English sort-of relatives over once, one of my mum's old schoolfriends and her kids- when we said we were going to have a barbie for dinner they looked at us like we were insane) do.  
  
SONGS FOR CHAPTER SEVEN:  
  
The Terminal City Theme- 'Living In Chaos' by The Offspring 


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